A Diamond in Dust Town
by Morninglight
Summary: Duncan is an old, tired man who will be dead soon. So the last thing he should be doing is falling in love with Brytta Brosca, the defiant Duster girl he recruited in Orzammar... But hearts can't be denied and Brytta has her own opinion on the matter.
1. Proving

Note: Had a plot nug nagging me to write this. I'm at a loss for _The Black Griffin_; will see how _The Game of Princes_ goes. Bioware owns Dragon Age and all appropriate properties.

…

**Part 1: Proving**

Since he had come to Orzammar for what would likely be the second-last time in his life, Duncan had spent his time either being feted by King Endrin and his three children or hearing about the best members of the Warrior Caste who would be competing in the Proving. Truth be told, the Grey Warden wasn't sure what he was looking for would be found amidst the brutal duels of the dwarven bloodsport which masqueraded as honour and glory. He needed toughness and grit during a Blight, not just competence.

_Everd is a blowhard and Mainar an arse,_ the part-Rivaini thought sourly as he looked around the crowded commons of the Proving Arena. All Castes were represented here… except, of course, for the casteless. So two younger dwarves wearing patched leather armour, cheap but well-tended weapons, and the brands of Dust Town stuck out as much as… well, _he_ did. They looked like – and probably were – carta thugs. The black-braided male was crude and blunt, hardened by his brutal life despite the cocky demeanour he affected, and the female with her long auburn hair confined in a messy ponytail and plaited headband seemed equally brutal but still possessed a lingering trace of sweetness in her big green eyes. He studied them thoughtfully, pretending to ignore the male's dare to come approach the fearsome Grey Warden. Maybe a Duster was what he was looking for in a recruit. They certainly knew about necessity and survival… Though they mightn't be willing to make the necessary self-sacrifice when it came to slay the archdemon.

He'd looked up briefly to pretend an interest in a Proving fan's analysis of the latest combat and then realised the female Duster had ventured close enough to actually speak of him. This boldness from her intrigued Duncan and he decided to play ignorant of her status as casteless; her reaction to politeness should be… interesting. So he offered her a cross-armed bow and said, "Stone-met and blessings on your house."

The startled expression on her face – sweet and round despite the trio of fine red scars which ran across her branded right cheek and the matching forehead brand concealed by her plaited headband – mingled with the wariness in her eyes. Extraordinary eyes, he had to admit, vivid green with a band of darker green around the outer edges of the irises and pupils like malachite. But she remained silent for a few seconds too long, so he acted confused and added, "That was the proper greeting for an outsider the last time I visited Orzammar. Has it changed? Or is there a reason why you're looking at me so strangely?"

The Duster found her voice and replied cautiously, "It was just… nicer than I expected."

Duncan smiled and chuckled. Her voice was a pleasant one, a mezzo-soprano which made her high-voiced for a dwarf woman; she also looked up at him without fear or deference despite her wariness. "Do they say the Grey Wardens are disrespectful then? My name is Duncan. I'd say 'of the Grey Wardens,' but I suspect you already know that. Pleased to meet you."

Apparently Dusters had some manners as the female bowed her head and answered softly, "I'm Brytta. Of… of nobody." Strangely, a catch of shame made that lovely voice break for a moment… Yet he didn't think it was from the shame of being casteless and a carta thug.

"Ah… of course. That's what the face-brand means, then. I remember now." Duncan smiled gently at her. She was really quite pretty in the dwarven way, only the wiry muscles of her exposed arms and legs giving hint to her life of violence. Perhaps the scars had prevented her from becoming a noble-hunter?

Brytta sighed. "Yes. And yes, you can have me arrested for harassing you."

The resigned manner in which she said it sent a thrill of fury at the dwarven caste system through Duncan's old, tainted veins. That she _expected_ arrest angered him… even as her courage in approaching him impressed the weary Warden. Her friend hung back, watching avidly yet nervously, like they had pressing business elsewhere.

"For saying hello?" he said aloud. "My friend, to a Grey Warden nothing short of a slavering darkspawn waking you in your bedroll counts as harassment." Then he smiled as those malachite-green eyes brightened. "Actually, I'm glad I met you. Whenever we come to Orzammar, we always stay in the Diamond Quarter. You forget how much of the city you miss."

Brytta looked around, first at her impatient friend, and then at the higher caste members running around before leaning closer and asking softly, "Is it true you're looking for recruits?"

The hope that flickered in those extraordinary eyes – just for a moment – made Duncan's heart ache for her. So young, so hurt by life, yet she wanted to be something more than a thug. "The Wardens are always looking for those who have the courage to spend their lives in battle against the darkspawn. It's rare we find those with both the skill and the will. The best Wardens are ruthless to their enemies, compassionate to their friends, and inspiring to their troops."

Brytta's eyes shone for a moment before she ducked her head as a higher caste woman wandered by. "Good luck with that, Warden."

"It's a lot to look for, but I hope to find it here," Duncan agreed.

"Around here, it'd be like trying to find a diamond in Dust Town," Brytta replied dryly.

"One never knows. I hope you also may find what you are looking for." Duncan bowed and stepped away before it was noticed he was talking to a Duster. Not that he gave a damn for what the Proving Master thought, but he didn't want Brytta to get into trouble for 'harassment'.

As he walked towards the viewing box used by honoured guests, he looked back to see the auburn-haired girl talking to her swarthy friend. She looked over her shoulder at him, her expression yearning, and Duncan resolved that he would recruit her – even if he had to march into Dust Town and drag her out himself.

That he might care for reasons beyond pragmatism was something he wouldn't admit for a long time.

…

Duncan sipped a fine imported wine as Everd marched into the Proving Arena to face off against his 'nemesis' Mainar. These were the two favourites, the ones that everyone expected to be recruited. Given the likely furore over him recruiting Brytta, he would likely have to take one of these two men to appease the higher castes.

"This a Glory Proving, fought under the watchful eyes of the Paragons of Orzammar for our honoured guests, the Grey Wardens!" the Proving Master announced to the sound of bloodthirsty dwarven cheers. "The warrior Everd, son of Galten, will fight Officer Mainar, survivor of the Battle of Kal Elerin!"

The crowd cheered as the two warriors took their positions. Everd was relatively inexperienced compared to Mainar, rumour had it, but it was said he could fight in a variety of styles – as proven by the spiked one-handed axe and dagger he carried. He was also more graceful than the lumbering, powerful Mainar – and faster too, if by the circles he danced around the officer were any evidence. _And_ a much dirtier fighter than was to be expected for a Warrior Caste.

The duel was shockingly swift, much to the muttered complaints of the Proving Master, as Everd knocked Mainar flat with a neat kick to the solar plexus that left the veteran gasping for breath. "A truly memorable fight! The young recruit vanquishes the wily veteran! Healer, see to that man's injuries."

Everd was permitted fifteen minutes to rest up before his next bout with Adalbo, the Journeyman Division Champion. Duncan almost felt sorry for the arrogant bastard as Everd walloped him soundly in less time than it took to drink a cup of wine. "The ancestors have withdrawn their blessings, and embrace a new champion upon the field!" the Proving Master announced.

_Perhaps Everd might be more than a blowhard after all,_ Duncan mused. It looked like he would be taking two recruits from Orzammar.

Lenka, the would-be Silent Sister, fell in rapid succession too. The Proving Master was about to announce the fourth battle when a drunken, dishevelled male dwarf stumbled into the Arena, much to booing and jeering from the crowd. "Wha- Is my bout a'ready?" he mumbled as he staggered about. Then his gaze fixed on the heavily breathing Everd and yelled in outrage, "Hey! That's my armor!"

"Who are you? How _dare_ you profane this sacred-" the Proving Master begun, only to be interrupted by Mainar's shout.

"Wait! I know that man. That's Everd! Then… what imposter did I fight?"

The Proving Master's face mottled a dangerous red as he yelled to 'Everd', "Remove your helmet, warrior, and let all that watched you see your face."

For the first time, Duncan clearly heard the fighter's voice… and had to conceal his smile as Brytta defiantly announced as she removed the helmet, "I am of no caste or clan, but I have defeated you all!"

_Yes, she has the will and the skill… Now, how to handle this diplomatically…_ Duncan thought wryly as guards closed in around Brytta in an attempt to corral her.

"Casteless, you insult the very nature of this Proving! Guards, take this… filth… away." The Proving Master looked ready to have a heart attack as the guards surrounded the Duster.

It was a mistake. Brytta proved to be an effective close-quarters fighter when surrounded by numerous opponents; she took every one of the five guards down, only to be stunned by a blunted crossbow bolt to the back of her head. They dragged her out by one leg and Duncan hurried to forestall them, his heart in his throat at the thought of losing her… skills.

"Hold your men, I pray you. This warrior has defeated the best you have to offer. Is that not what this Proving is for?" He kept himself calm and reasonable despite the real concern he had for Brytta's safety.

The Proving Master was adamant. "We are honoured by your presence, Warden, but this Proving is not solely for you. There are laws which have governed this Arena for a thousand years. This woman is no warrior! She is casteless, rejected by the Ancestors. Her very footprints pollute the Stone. She has no place here!"

Duncan's voice and eyes were cold as he answered with, "Except as your champion." Then he walked away, thinking hard on how to retrieve Brytta from the dwarven guards…

…

"She's… gone? How did that happen?"

The Guard-Captain in charge of Orzammar's jail looked ready to shit himself as Duncan, almost twice his size, stared down his beak of a nose to glare furiously at the man. He'd made his way here, the Proving Master following him and protesting his every step, only to discover that Brytta and her friend had been removed.

"She… uh… snuck out," the Guard-Captain stammered fearfully.

The Proving Master forgot himself enough to curse. "Beraht! Of course."

"Beraht?" Duncan had heard the name mentioned a time or two in connection to Dust Town.

"Crime lord with many friends in higher Castes…" The Proving Master growled angrily. "Damned Dusters! They should remember their place!"

_How can they when you treat them like less than the dirt beneath your feet?_ Duncan thought angrily as the Proving Master began to extol the virtues of Mainar as a recruit. If Beraht was as ruthless as any other carta leader, Brytta and Leske were likely sunk into a lava flow by now.

The Warden-Commander of Ferelden squeezed his eyes closed against the tears which threatened. One defiant Duster girl with beautiful eyes, dead because of the dwarves' stupidity and pride. He would have to settle for a moron like Mainar…

The next four hours were spent poring over files in an attempt to find someone worthy of replacing Brytta. If Duncan got a little more drunk than usual, no one noticed… except Bhelen, King Endrin's son, who stopped by and asked if he'd been intending to recruit the casteless girl. The Warden simply nodded and the dwarven Prince nodded thoughtfully. "If she turns up alive, I'll let you know," he said.

"You think she will?" Duncan asked, surprised the Prince would be so sympathetic.

Bhelen smiled quickly. "If the stories her sis- somebody I know – has told me about her, she's the luck of the Ancestors and the fighting skills to match." The Prince looked around swiftly and then dropped a cloth-wrapped mace on the desk in Duncan's guest room. "Foral Aeducan's mace. Give it to her; she deserves it more than any of my kin."

Then without a further word, Bhelen left the room, leaving Duncan stroking his beard thoughtfully. The Prince's affection for noble hunters was well known – Brytta obviously had a sister who'd caught his eye, and perhaps more than that. Duncan vaguely recalled a pretty redhead with a casteless brand exiting Bhelen's room one night…

He set aside his paperwork and clasped his hands, closing his eyes to pray to whatever would listen that Brytta would somehow survive Beraht's fury and that of the Warrior Caste long enough for him to recruit her. The aging Warden told himself it was because she was brave and defiant and unexpectedly resourceful – traits needed desperately in the Grey Wardens – not because she had lovely eyes and a pleasant voice and reminded him too damned much of his life as a thief.

Two more hours passed, the Grey Warden desultorily picking at a meal King Endrin's servants had brought, before news came from Bhelen's second Vartag Galvorn. "Dust Town sources are saying that somebody slaughtered Beraht and his cronies," he explained. "If our source is correct, the girl will exit via Janar's shop. Best get down there if you want to recruit her, Grey Warden."

Duncan rose hurriedly from his seat, knocking over a mostly-empty flagon of wine in the process. "What makes you think it's going to be Brytta?"

Vartag shrugged. "Her sister's caught the Prince's eye and was with him when news reached us of her actions. Rica's certain her sister will have gutted Beraht like a nug."

Duncan grabbed the mace and his backpack as he'd been ready to go shortly after the Proving and travelled light anyways. "Let's go then."

It was a short trip down to the entrance of Janar's shop but long enough for Duncan to arrive just after the Proving Master and his guards. _Shit_, the Warden-Commander thought as the door opened to reveal Brytta and her friend – Leske, apparently – exiting the building.

"There they are! Guards, seize the fugitives!" cried out one of the Proving Master's people.

"Drop your weapons and walk down slowly. We will use force if you resist," the Proving Master added. As if dying in a scuffle with the Guard wouldn't be a better choice than the behanding, whipping, flaying and execution that awaited Brytta for treason.

The Duster girl's eyes leapt straight to Duncan and flashed with joy before turning defiantly to the Proving Master. "If this is your idea of a heroic rescue, you're too late," she drawled with a commendable imitation of a Noble Caste dandy.

Duncan stifled a laugh as the Proving Master retorted, "You do not speak until the shapers have judged you!"

"One moment, my friend. Did you not suggest that this Beraht might have arranged their convenient escape?" Duncan asked reasonably.

"Regardless, the penalty for impersonating a higher caste is death."

"If Beraht is as influential as you say, perhaps he also masterminded this Everd's impersonation."

"Actually, I came up with that idea," piped up Leske in the background, only to receive a withering glare from Brytta.

"Last I saw Beraht, he was suffering from a bad case of dead," she coolly added.

"He's dead?" The Proving Master looked shaken. "Beraht had many enemies, but also powerful allies. They'll-"

"Beraht would have butchered us if she hadn't killed him first!" Leske hotly interrupted.

Duncan smiled. "Your friend has once again demonstrated her courage. We Grey Wardens travel far and wide in search of those who have the potential to join our ranks. It seems I have found one."

"Why are you telling me this? What's in it for you?" Brytta demanded, the wariness in her voice at odds with the yearning in her malachite eyes.

Duncan smiled again. "Let me make my offer formal. I, Duncan of the Grey Wardens, extend the invitation for you to join our Order."

"This woman is wanted for treason. You can't do this!" The Proving Master was livid.

"I can and I am." Duncan looked searchingly at the speechless Brytta as the vaguely pretty redhead who had to be Rica showed up. "It would mean travelling to the surface lands and thus leaving your people, but it does offer you the chance to strike a blow against the darkspawn and the Blight."

Brytta took a deep, shaky breath, tears glittering in her eyes. "What's the trick?"

"While it is no trick, it is a dangerous life. I can promise you no guarantee of safety. I can also give you nothing in return for these hazards. In joining me, you leave all you know behind." Duncan began to pray silently that she would agree. The thought of Brytta being executed was… painful… to him.

"I'd… like to talk to my sister before I decide." Brytta's voice was shaky as she looked at Rica, who looked like a sweeter, softer version of her done up in lace and jewels.

"And I see that your friend would like to speak to you as well." Duncan stepped back to give her some privacy.

Leske bluntly told Brytta that she should agree before Duncan changed his mind – not sodding likely – and Rica assured her that she'd be fine because her patron would take care of her. Finally, Brytta picked up the makeshift pack she'd toted out of Janar's shop and hugged her sister awkwardly, flashed a wave to Leske, and joined Duncan with a muttered, "I'm ready."

"Then before these witnesses, I hereby recruit you into the Grey Wardens. Know that you are most welcome." Duncan managed to keep his grin muted to a warm smile as the Proving Master finally exploded.

"This is highly irregular! The warrior families will be most… upset!"

Leske grinned. "Look at you, you Duster! A Warden! And to think I knew you when you were stealing bread."

Brytta smiled shyly at Duncan and he remembered the mace Bhelen had given him. "Before we brave the Deep Roads, I would like to make you a gift of this mace, since you have so few possessions of your own. It was once wielded by the Warden Foral Aeducan. I believe he was related to your King. I know you will follow his proud example."

Brytta's smile transformed into a triumphant grin. "Thanks! I'll just stick it with my share of the stuff I looted from Beraht's hideout and pickpocketed earlier today."

Leske and Rica openly grinned as the Proving Master spluttered in rage. Duncan laughed and said, "You know, I was like you at your age."

Brytta's eyes shone at the comment, the mabari-eyed gaze warming Duncan's old, tired heart even as he firmly reminded himself that he would have to make sure she didn't become infatuated with him. "Goodbye, my friends, and thank you for your hospitality."

As he turned to leave, he could hear the Proving Master praying to the Stone as Brytta indulged herself – much like the recruit Daveth had – by giving the entire Orzammar Guard, all of whom were Warrior Caste, the finger as she spun lightly on her heel. Leske and Rica grinned even more and Duncan finally lost control of himself and laughed merrily as they exited the Orzammar Commons towards the Deep Roads.

Yes, he had found what he was looking for in Orzammar. Maker willing it wouldn't be her death sentence.


	2. Stars

Note: _The Game of Princes _will be updated soon; just waiting on some feedback for a plot point. Until then, please enjoy Part 2 of _A Diamond in Dust Town_, which is going to have some AU details to it. I use the Grey Warden Armours mod and because I own DAO: Ultimate Edition and enabled the developer console on it, my characters begin with the Sorrows of Arlathan bow and the runscript supercrit player command before I dress them up in Grey Warden leathers (prefers rogues!) in Ostagar… And this Duncan has a braid. This work will likely be more adult-oriented (read a bit more sex) than some of my other stuff. Thanks for the reviews!

…

**Part 2: Stars**

They emerged from the Deep Roads somewhere west of Redcliffe because Duncan had need of news from Arl Eamon Guerrin. It was late afternoon, the setting sun casting a bloody glow over the severe landscape of the lower slopes of the Frostback Mountains, as Duncan made his way to a local village he'd visited often over the past three decades. He cast a glance over his shoulder to see how Brytta was going and found her staring at the sky in wide-eyed fear. The Warden-Commander kicked himself: the Duster girl had proven to be such an adaptable companion on the Deep Roads that he'd naturally assumed she could cope with the thought of an open sky.

It had been three weeks since he recruited Brytta in Orzammar and Duncan had found the time an unexpected delight. Quick to learn and eager to prove herself, the dwarf carried the mace he'd given her like a talisman, resorting to dual iron daggers when the time came for close combat. In the uncertain light of lava flows and lyrium veins, Brytta's face had glowed with happiness as she mastered a slim recurved longbow found in the same Grey Warden cache where Duncan had located proper leathers for her. Her talent for weapons was matched by the unsuspected skill she possessed in carving semi-precious stones into beads and trinkets. Had she left for the surface previously to being recruited, she could have made a respectable living for herself as a jeweller.

When Duncan told her so, Brytta had laughed. "Me? Nah, I'm just some Duster good at killing things, Grey Warden. Isn't that why you recruited me?"

"I recruited you because you were cunning, courageous and resourceful," Duncan replied, a touch more forcefully than he should have. "If I wanted a simple killer, I'd have gotten one of those moronic Warrior Castes!"

Brytta's malachite-green eyes widened at the frustration in his voice. The dwarf woman was so much more than the simple carta thug most of the higher Castes had assumed: compassionate, unremittingly loyal to those who earned her trust, and possessed of a love for beauty rarely expected in one from Dust Town. Duncan was trying to do everything in his power to assure her that she was more than 'good at killing things'. She reminded him of an unpolished diamond… and Maker forgive him, he found himself wanting to be the one who made her shine like she ought to.

It had begun two days into the Deep Roads as they camped in the ruins of Aeducan Thaig, recently cleared of the darkspawn by the ill-fated Aeducan offensive. Duncan grieved for his old friend Endrin's loss but somewhat relieved as Lady Sereda Aeducan had been a flaming bitch. Bhelen was a cunning piece of work but his desire to improve the lot of the casteless appeared to be more than simply a wish for more darkspawn fodder. He'd told Brytta of how the Prince had granted him the Aeducan mace as a gift for her and his suspicions concerning his association with Rica; she'd smiled so sweetly that it overwhelmed the scars on her face and said, "I'm not surprised. My sister's too good for anything less than a prince. Not like me. I'm just a brawler."

"_Leske_ is a brawler. _You_ have the qualities I was looking for in a recruit," Duncan told her. It was a mantra he repeated at least twice a day because the girl genuinely believed she was nothing special.

Brytta chose to focus instead on what he could teach her about darkspawn and survival outside of Dust Town. He found himself telling her tales of his life from the poverty of his youth in Val Royeaux to his conscription after the murder of a Grey Warden who'd thanked him as he'd died. He told her about King Maric's adventure with the Grey Wardens in the Deep Roads, only keeping the nature of the Architect to himself. When she was a full Warden, she could learn about it… But it was hard. Brytta was so willing to listen to him that the usually quiet and reserved Duncan was practically talking her ear off… He wanted to tell her everything because she, of all people, _understood_.

She told him stories too, both about her life as a Duster and tales told to dwarven children that few surfacers likely ever heard. Gherlon the Blood-Risen, a Paragon that Duncan had never heard of, was a particular favourite of casteless children… "Rica told me that one once," she said, chewing on a mouthful of dried nug-meat. Her table manners were a bit rough, but Duncan was no Paragon of etiquette himself…

"How old were you?" Duncan asked, curious.

"Twelve. I'd just killed my first man for Beraht." The matter-of-fact way she said it, chewing on that mouthful of nug-meat, was almost enough to make the hardened Warden weep. Brytta's mother had been a drunk, her only source of affection her sister, and her only friend Leske (who was probably reliable as spring weather). Duncan, at least, had known the love of his parents and the friendship of the Grey Wardens.

"You're… sixteen then?" Duncan asked, tallying up the stories she'd told to get an approximate age.

"Eighteen. I was only officially part of the carta from fourteen, when Rica got pretty. Before that, I was trying to convince him to take me on." Brytta shrugged and swallowed her food. "Doesn't matter now. I won't see fifty, which is probably about ten years more than I'd get in Dust Town."

"Does it bother you, the fact that the Joining will shorten your lifespan?" Duncan asked, feeling rather more trepidation about her answer than he ought to concerning a new recruit. After all, hadn't he recruited a married man whose wife was expecting a child?

"I would've died before I was twenty-five unless Rica got herself knocked up," Brytta pointed out dryly. "That's assuming I don't die during the Joining."

Duncan gave her a startled glance. "How did you know that could happen?"

"Everyone knows Grey Wardens have some kind of magic to sense darkspawn. Since magic is dangerous and you keep on talking about this Joining, I assume it makes sense it could kill you." Brytta shrugged again. "Then again, I'm a Duster. I assume _most_ things can kill you."

"Or at least make you wish for death," Duncan agreed wryly. "I have a Warden named Alistair… If you can, try to avoid eating his food. It's bad enough that the Joining is preferable."

Brytta huffed. "You haven't eaten my mother's cooking then."

Duncan had laughed and changed the subject…

"Uh, Grey Warden?" Brytta's voice, high and nervous, snapped him out of his reverie. He looked at the auburn-haired girl; she stood trembling as the shadows lengthened into evening. "Why is the sky changing?"

"The sun is setting," he replied, chagrined and kicking himself for wasting time thinking. "We'll need to hurry to reach Cloudfields."

"How far is it?" she asked worriedly.

"Half an hour at a quick walk."

Brytta's eyes filled with embarrassment as she hung her head. "I… don't think I can walk that far. I'm sorry. My feet are hurting too much."

Duncan cursed softly. Brytta had been such a trooper that he'd forgotten she'd never walked for miles at a time. Even three weeks later, her feet were still blistered despite the elfroot poultices he put on them each evening. _Stupid bastard,_ he told himself. _You should be taking better care of her. She can't fight the darkspawn if her feet are hurting!_

Then Brytta sniffled and wiped at her eyes. "I'm sorry I disappointed you, Grey Warden," she said in a small, lost voice, the most vulnerable he'd ever heard her.

"You've done nothing wrong. It's my fault," Duncan told her as he strode back towards her. "And for the Maker's sake, call me Duncan."

"I can't. That'd be too- Whoa!" Brytta yelped as Duncan picked her up easily, discomforted by the thinness of her body for a dwarf, and placed her on his shoulders.

"You can and you will," he commanded. "Now hang on. It's going to be a fast jog if we're to beat the gates closing."

"I don't think dwarves are meant to be this high up," Brytta said worriedly as her hands tightened in his braid, Duncan steadying her by locking both arms around her legs.

"You'll be fine. Now hang on!" Duncan broke into a loping run as the grey light of twilight faded and the first star appeared in the sky. This was something he had done with dwarven companions many, many times… and he knew the path to Cloudfields well.

Brytta's breasts brushed the top of his head as he loped towards the walls of Cloudfields. Duncan forced himself to stay focused on the path, not on the memories of the times they'd taken advantage of fresh water to bathe. Dusters had no sense of modesty and so Brytta had thought nothing of stripping down and jumping in the water with him watching. Of course, he'd needed to pretend he was as easy about casual nudity as she… and usually he was.

But the sight of Brytta, splashing in clean water like a giggling child despite the danger of the Deep Roads, wasn't one he could remain unaffected by. Despite the horrors and brutality she'd endured, there was a sweetness and innocence about her as she explored the wonders of a life with purpose… She would make a wonderful Grey Warden.

Duncan's heart clenched at the thought of her white-eyed and twitching on the ground. _Dear Maker, let her survive the Joining. Please…_ While he mourned the loss of every recruit who died, he already knew that losing Brytta would hit him harder. And he really didn't want to admit why.

Brytta was too busy clutching onto his braid, the length of thick silver-threaded black hair twined around her small, long-fingered hands so tightly it made his head ache, to talk as the gates got closer. He couldn't see if she was looking around at anything; he was too busy calling out to the village gate-guard just as he was about to close for the night.

"Warden Duncan! 'Tis grand t' see ye," the stocky, grizzled man, whose name was Angus, called out cheerfully. "We been expectin' ye for the past week since Warden Alistair came through."

"Alistair came through?" That was a surprise; he'd expected the templar-turned-Warden to have gone to Ostagar under Warden-Second Grigor's command.

"Tall lad with whiskey-coloured hair," Angus confirmed, muddy-brown eyes widening as Duncan came into the light of the torches with Brytta on his shoulders. "Lingered couple days before hightailing it to Redcliffe. Said he'd expected ye t' have taken the high road from Orzammar."

Duncan sighed. "The Deep Roads are actually safer now than usual because the darkspawn are at Ostagar."

Angus nodded grimly. Once a generation, a young man from Cloudfields was sent to the Grey Wardens because of the village's proximity to the Deep Roads; Angus' brother Durragh had been one of them until his Calling three years ago. Duncan still missed the bright-eyed bowman's ready grin. "Explains why ye've a dwarf with ye," he replied. "She injured?"

"I would appreciate Mhuir taking a look at her feet," Duncan said gratefully. "My elfroot poultices haven't been able to do much for them."

Angus snorted. "Ye're a fine man but a healer ye ain't. So, can she talk or is she the silent type?"

It finally sunk into Duncan's head that Brytta was being remarkably silent for someone who'd chatter endlessly when he wasn't. "She can talk… Brytta, is the sky still bothering you?"

"Huh?" The Duster sounded surprised, then ashamed. "I'm sorry, ser. I was looking at the little lights in the sky."

"We call 'em 'stars'," Angus said kindly. "Welcome t' Cloudfields, Warden-Recruit. We always welcome Grey Wardens here, so when the lowlands get on yer nerves, feel free t' come back."

"Nice to meet you. I'm Brytta Brosca." Duncan felt her weight shift and his braid being released as she leant down to offer her hand to the human. Angus shook it before chivvying them inside the stockade so he could shut it up for the night; wolves and bears were bad in this part of the world and would get worse with a Blight.

He'd noticed that for a Duster, Brytta was well-spoken, much like Rica; maybe the sisters had shared elocution lessons. He would need to check the state of her literacy and numeracy skills as well; all Grey Wardens were taught both if they lacked the knowledge before recruitment.

"Brytta Brosca? Sounds like a mouthful," Angus said as he led them through the village towards the building which served as inn, town hall and mayoral residence. "So… ye a Duster?"

"Yeah… You've seen brands before then?" Brytta's responses were distracted; Duncan had the feeling she was looking at the stars and moon overhead.

"Half the village are surfacer dwarves and there's not a family amongst the other half that ain't got a touch of dwarf in them," Angus replied kindly. "Must confess, a Duster Warden's rarer than hen's teeth; the ones we see are all Warrior Caste. How'd ye get recruited?"

Because the large thatched building before them had a low roof, Duncan set Brytta on her feet again with a murmured apology as she winced in pain. How long had her feet been giving her trouble beyond what he'd expected from blisters? He would have to tell her to take better care of herself; a crippled Warden couldn't fight, after all.

But despite the pain she had to be feeling, Brytta smiled at Angus as they entered the inn. "That's a story to be told over a mug of ale, ser. If you let me take these Stone-rotted boots off and sit down first, it's one I'm happy to share."

"You'll be getting your feet tended by Mhuir first," Duncan commanded. Thankfully, the village wisewoman bustled over immediately as her husband Randall, mayor and innkeeper, came to greet them.

"Yesser," Brytta mumbled.

_Wonderful, now she's going to call me ser,_ Duncan thought sourly as Mhuir had Angus pick up the surprised Duster and plonk her in the most comfortable human-sized chair available, one with a cushioned footstool, before pulling off her stiff leather boots and greaves with a few choice Avvar curses.

"Who gave ye these boots, girl? They were made for elfen feet, not dwarfen ones," Mhuir said as she cut off the rag-bindings Brytta used for socks. "An' not a proper pair of socks!"

"We had to resupply from a Grey Wardens cache in the Deep Roads," Duncan confessed quickly.

"Didn't they make proper dwarfen boots in Orzammar?" Mhuir countered as she looked at the state of Brytta's feet, red and swollen with several infected blisters. "Ye should thank the Ancestors, girl, ye ain't got the Blight sickness on top of this. But ye won't be going anywhere for the next few days."

"We have to get to Ostagar," Duncan began, only to fall silent when Mhuir turned a fierce glare onto him. For all that Cloudfields was technically part of Ferelden, they maintained their syncretic Avvar-dwarven ways… which included ignoring the fact that the wisewoman was technically an apostate. Mhuir, Duncan knew, was a Spirit Healer who dealt with benevolent spirits of the Fade.

"Ye'll not get t' Redcliffe, let alone, unless ye plan t' carry the dwarfen girl all the way," the hedge witch retorted as she rummaged in her beltpouch for a precious steel needle, which she heated over the fire right next to the chair of honour. "Ye let her get int' this state, Duncan, now ye'll abide the consequences."

Brytta immediately leapt to his defence. "Don't blame Duncan! I didn't tell him about the boots because I didn't want to be trouble! He's done so much for me and I-"

Two of Cloudfields surfacer dwarves, brothers named Kolgan and Holgan, led a hoard of their kin into the inn. "Is Brytta Brosca here?" Kolgan demanded. Duncan casually set his hand on his belt, close to his dagger, as the ten or so dwarves stomped into the inn. Beraht had surface connections, Brytta had explained, and Cloudfields was a possible source of a few because of its proximity to the Deep Roads.

"Aye an' she's a guest," Randall said calmly. "Now what's got ye in such a puff, Kolgan?"

"Don't mind my brother," Holgan, a cheerful unbearded young man with bright brown eyes, said amusedly. "He's got the manners of a starving deepstalker."

"The entire Surface Caste's looking for her, rumour goes," Kolgan added. "Half of them, those that dealt with Beraht, are pissed. The other half want to raise her to Paragonhood for killing the bastard!"

"So sit down, shut up, let her feet get fixed an' she'll tell us the tale," Angus said from the corner. "Hell, go get the whole village. This's going t' be a good one. I can tell."

Holgan snickered and dashed off as Kolgan sat down on one of the chairs reserved for dwarves, his friends following suit. Fifty dwarves and eighty humans lived in Cloudfields, some quarrying the tough white granite found in this part of the Frostback Mountains and others tending the sheep which provided the fine white wool the village was famous for. Smugglers sometimes worked out of the village and Duncan paid them no heed usually… But if they threatened Brytta because of her slaughter of the carta, he would need to take steps.

It was a tense ten minutes as the entire village excepting the younger children and infirm filled the stone-walled inn, Randall spending the time having his two sons haul out casks of ale and mead and Mhuir tending the silent, worried Brytta's feet. Duncan watched Kolgan and friends intently, hands on his belt just in case they decided to cause any kind of trouble.

Finally everyone was ready, Brytta's feet mended as much as they could be, and a flagon of dwarven ale set at her hand. Duncan took a seat close to her, smiling reassuringly at her, and she returned the expression with a warm gaze. Maker's breath! Some dwarven noble would rue the day she'd never become a noble hunter like her sister should she return to Orzammar as a Grey Warden.

_She is your recruit, Duncan. You saved her from a horrible death and gave her a purpose. That is why she likes you. You must remember your place as her commander…_ What Brytta was going through was nothing more or less than Alistair's hero worship. No doubt the two would get on well together – perhaps he ought to encourage them to become friends or more? They'd have much in common and Brytta's life experience would offset Alistair's naivety nicely…

For some reason, the idea of the tall, likeable Warden-Ensign and the short, sweet Warden-Recruit together pissed Duncan off even as it made his heart twinge. Maybe he should get a check-up from Mhuir himself…

Duncan received a tankard of foaming ale himself, sipping from it as Brytta began to tell her story. He knew how amusing the Duster was when she wanted to be; soon the Cloudfields folk, human and dwarf alike, were laughing uproariously or cheering in the appropriate places. Randall was selling ale and mead like it was going out of fashion – in Cloudfields, he was paid in barter more than coin and the goods were often returned to their owners in other fashion – and grinning broadly. Both Avvar and dwarf appreciated a good story and Brytta's promised to be one of the best.

The tale came to an end, Kolgan roaring until he nearly choked when she described the one-finger salute to the entire Warrior Caste of Orzammar on her way out. Surface dwarves rarely left Orzammar under good circumstances, so the news of someone defying the entire caste system in such a spectacular way was… welcome. Even better when that someone reached a rank high-caste dwarves had killed each other to obtain.

Duncan smiled as Brytta found herself being slapped on the back and poured more drinks than were probably good for her. The Duster girl seemed much more in her element now, matching Kolgan drink for drink and replying to Holgan's bawdy suggestions with retorts that were crude enough to make a Rivaini pirate blush. It was probably close to midnight when Randall called it a night and told everyone to leave before they drank all the booze set aside for winter. It was an effective threat.

"Uh, ser? I ought to tell you I was pouring every second drink onto your floor," Brytta informed Randall after the last guest had departed. Duncan looked closely at her and realised her malachite-green eyes were clear. He hadn't even realised she was using the old gambler's trick of dumping alcohol discreetly.

"I thought ye were a bit too clear-headed," Randall replied with a shrug. "No bother t' me, lass; they paid for it, so drunk or not…" The mayor of Cloudfields looked over at Duncan. "Ye go on up t' bed and take your lass with ye, Duncan."

"She's not my lass. She is a Warden-Recruit under my command," Duncan retorted through gritted teeth. He'd been watching to see how she dealt with social situations. That was all.

A loud, sceptical snort from Mhuir as she picked up the sodden rushes and tossed them out into the night's darkness via an open window was the wisewoman's only comment. Duncan cast a glance at Brytta, who was studiously examining the mug of mead cradled in her hands, her eyes hidden from him. _Shit. All I need. Everyone thinking I'm infatuated with the girl or she with me!_

"If it's not too much trouble, ser, I'll sleep down here," Brytta offered quietly. "Chair's pretty comfy and Mhuir said I need to keep my feet up."

"I'll leave ye a chamber pot then, lass, an' ye can bathe in the morning," Mhuir answered kindly. She dropped a chipped clay pot besides the chair and banked the coals before chivvying everyone except Brytta upstairs to the upper rooms; as a guest, Duncan had the entire loft to himself.

The thick straw pallet with its coverlets of woven wool and sheepskin was comfortable as always; the mutton stew served rich and flavoursome, leaving a warm spot in his belly; the mead the same salt-sweet sourness he knew from previous visits. Despite the nightmares and call of the archdemon, Duncan should have slept reasonably well. He'd done so in far worse conditions on the way here. What was wrong?

And why had Brytta given him such a betrayed look as he went upstairs?


	3. Clouds

Note: This story will be heading quite firmly into AU territory and will be quite adult in parts because the plot-nugs are chittering in my brain. I think Brytta and Duncan have been feeding them cheese to encourage them… I _know _one of the reviewers has. :P

…

**Part 3: Clouds**

Brytta had come to a conclusion on why humans were so dense and stupid when it came to the important things: there was only so much blood in the body, and since it had further to climb in a human, not enough was obviously reaching the brain. It was why Duncan was more sensible sitting down than he was standing up.

Kolgan had promised her new sheepskin-lined boots dyed Warden Blue before she left Cloudfields as an apology for his earlier behaviour. Brytta couldn't fault him – a lot of surfacers had relied on that scum Beraht for their livelihood, and with him gone, someone like Jarvia or maybe even Leske would ascend to take his place. She hoped it was the latter. He deserved a break.

In Aeducan Thaig she'd tried to convince Duncan to turn around and recruit Leske, pointing out that he and she had made a great team taking out Beraht. But the Warden-Commander had been adamant that Leske lacked the qualities which made one a good Warden. What more was needed than the will and skill to fight darkspawn?

…Okay. So maybe Leske would balk at killing darkspawn if there were too many; but that was why he needed her around, to keep him on the straight and narrow. She couldn't believe Duncan had chosen to only take her!

Not that she was unhappy. Brytta was enough of a Duster to admit that between the choice to stay with Leske and Rica and be executed or to go to the surface and become a hero like Gherlen the Blood-Risen, she'd choose the second every time. She knew that Bhelen Aeducan was… sympathetic… to the casteless; even if only for the fact it made for more Deep Roads fodder. Maybe he truly loved Rica; she hoped so, for her sister's sake. But Rica deserved a prince. Nothing less would do for the sister of a Grey Warden.

Brytta grinned at the thought. _Grey Warden._ She knew the boots were too damned narrow and long for her feet but had taken such pride in wearing the blue, grey and white of the Wardens that she didn't want to spoil Duncan's happy mood by telling him they pinched. To know that the Warden-Commander was once the human equivalent of a Duster had deepened the desire she'd conceived on first seeing him, grave and silent, in the Proving Commons.

There was an overhang of stone that led directly from the Diamond Quarter to the part of Dust Town where Brytta and Rica had sometimes taken shelter when Kalah was too much on the drink for their safety. Before Beraht took them on, Rica had told her stories beneath it as they rummaged through the trash tossed from the noble houses, and Brytta had told herself one of finding a scattering of diamonds amidst the middens – everyone knew nobles were so rich they could toss away diamonds – and buying Rica the most beautiful surface-silk gown in Orzammar, herself the finest dragonbone armour around, going to the surface, killing monsters that threatened to eat an Aeducan or a human King or something, and coming back so rich and wealthy they had to make her and Rica Paragons. And then she would rebuild Dust Town and run Beraht out of it and make everything better for the casteless so that the brand became a sign of honour instead of shame…

As Brytta grew older and more hardened as a killer, the dreams had changed, becoming smaller but no less precious. When she had killed her first man, an unsanctioned thief, at the age of twelve, she'd buried her dreams of becoming a hero and instead vowed to do everything in her power to see Rica become a noble's concubine because she _knew_ her sister was beautiful. And so Brytta buried her dreams of being a hero beneath layers of dust and tears, mortgaging pieces of her soul to Beraht so that Rica could get the prince she deserved for her sweetness and goodness.

…Then she saw Duncan. Tall, armoured in fine silverite plate and pristine white robes, his skin brown as the polished wood floors Rica had once seen in a noble's estate and dark eyes full of sorrow. He was a human, true, but he was everything Brytta had imagined a Grey Warden to be. The dreams of becoming a hero roared back into her consciousness, washing away the accumulated grit of six years' burying, and she knew she had to speak to him.

So she accepted Leske's dare and approached him. By the Stone, human or not he was everything she'd ever dreamt of in a man. Kind, strong, gentle, heroic… Everything she knew Leske _wasn't_ but she'd tried to make him be. She wanted him. She wanted to be a Warden. She knew the Wardens could take whomever they pleased.

Brytta had donned Everd's armour and proceeded to humiliate the entire Warrior Caste in one afternoon. Even from a distance she could feel Duncan's eyes on her and so she'd fought harder than she ever had before. Oh Ancestors, the hope she'd felt when he stood up to argue with the Proving Master over her!

But Beraht had taken her away. And that was when Brytta thought: _Enough._ She was going to take Leske, kill Beraht with him, then go get recruited by Duncan; with a Grey Warden for a sister, Rica could have her pick of noblemen instead of the other way around. Leske would profit by taking over Beraht's business or going to the surface; he never dreamt of anything better.

It had turned out better than she hoped. _Duncan_ had come running from the Diamond Quarter to save her from the Proving Master and his guards, Prince Bhelen Aeducan had demonstrated the good taste to choose her sweet, loving sister, who'd care for him better than some noble bitch-born hag, and she'd gone to become a Grey Warden. Giving the entire Warrior Caste the finger had been petty, she would admit, but perfectly justified.

Despite the odd clash with darkspawn or deepstalker (who were quite tasty, it seemed), Brytta had enjoyed every moment of her time in the Deep Roads. There was clean water deep enough to submerge her entire body in! Rica, as the noble-hunter, had always gotten the noble's share of whatever clean water came their way so she was tidy. But even she would have been in awe of the waterfalls and pools, deep and still, that Duncan took her to so they could keep clean in the darkness.

In the Deep Roads, Duncan had opened up to her: Rica had once said men loved to have a woman listen to them talk. Brytta reminded herself to thank her sister for sharing those lessons about men, even if the Warden-Commander was being stubborn. He'd told her lots of things – she knew he kept a few things back, but figured it was a full Warden thing – and made her laugh a lot.

By the Stone, he was a fine sight indeed naked too: corded, knotted muscles stretched across long, lean limbs, dusky-bronze skin scattered with scars and dusted with less hair than a dwarf but enough to prove he was male, and what was between his legs…! As they'd bathed together, Brytta had felt a hot gaze run across her pale skin whenever he'd thought she wouldn't notice. Silly human male! Her sister was a noble-hunter; _of course_ she'd notice when a man found her attractive.

Things had been progressing nicely until they reached the skylands. True, Brytta had been limping and Duncan's elfroot poultices pretty ineffective, but they'd been comfortable with each other in a way which presaged well for the next step in her plan. Duncan believed that Brytta was better than she was; he was wrong about that, but she was Duster enough to admit that she was getting ready to stop reminding him of the facts. Leske had always told her she was too honest for her own good.

Then they'd gotten to the surface and Brytta had wasted too much time with her fear of the sky. She wasn't going to fall into it but it was so big and empty and her feet hurt so badly… When Duncan had picked her up and put her on his shoulders, she'd twined her hands through his thick hair – softer even than Rica's! – and hung on for dear life as he ran in long, elastic strides that ate up the distance to Cloudfields without wasting energy or effort. She'd looked up at the little pinpoint lights called 'stars' and the big fat round light called 'moon', imagining (mostly) if Duncan would make love the same way he ran… Maybe tonight she'd find out.

Duncan didn't know it, but Kolgan and Holgan had dealt with Beraht; Brytta had met them both once before. But the Warden-Commander had sensed the potential threat, his hands going to his belt in a casual way which any rogue knew meant he was a heartbeat away from violence.

Thankfully Beraht had also screwed the brothers over and she was able to win them over to her side with a good story. Holgan had kept on propositioning her, whom she turned down with bawdy good cheer; she only wanted Duncan. To that end, she'd kept herself clear-headed in the hopes of snuggling up to the Warden-Commander in a nice soft bed tonight…

…Only to be hurt when Duncan declared to Mhuir and Randall she was only a Warden-Recruit under his command! What the fuck? He'd been standing when he said it though, so Brytta decided the blood was having trouble climbing to his brain so she'd wait an hour or so until he was lying down, then head upstairs to have a talk with him. He'd be more sensible then, especially if she was pressed up against him.

Brytta spent the next hour staring into the banked fire and imagining the logistics of having sex with a human. He was thick as a dwarven male but the length might be a bit of a problem… She'd need to be on top to make things less awkward, she decided, as she rose to her feet gingerly. That wisewoman had done a good job on her feet and told her she could walk short distances indoors. Mhuir was _definitely _in on the plan and agreed with it; she'd given Brytta a wink as she'd headed upstairs. Human women, it seemed, were as sensible as dwarven ones. Maybe it was because they were shorter. Which would make elves more sensible than humans and dwarves the most sensible people of all…

She was halfway to the stairs when she heard somebody coming downstairs; much to her delight, it was Duncan, clad only in braies with a blanket in hand. Lying down _had_ made him smart enough to come find her and take her upstairs. She'd need to keep him prone for all important discussions in the future then.

"Brytta!" The human sounded surprised to see her up and about. She supposed he expected her to be sitting down. Then he added, "I thought you were sleeping. I… came to check on you to see if you needed an extra blanket."

The Duster shrugged nonchalantly, knowing that since she'd removed her stiff leather body armour, she was just dressed in a thin, rough shirt and breeches with improvised underwear made from rags beneath. They'd had to leave Orzammar in a bit of a hurry, after all.

Something hot burned in Duncan's eyes for a moment. But all he said was, "I think you should also be sitting down. Mhuir will kill us both if your feet aren't healed, and I can only spare two or three days before we must make all speed to Redcliffe and then to Ostagar."

Brytta took a deep breath. "Look, Warden-Commander, all I want is to be flat on my back with you beside me."

Duncan took a deep, ragged breath and exhaled it shakily, dark eyes closing. "Brytta… I _cannot_."

"Is there some Grey Warden rule against it?" Brytta asked exasperatedly.

"Technically no, but-"

"I _know_ it isn't because you find me unattractive, ser. My sister's a noble-hunter and I've had a few lovers. I know when a man feels desire." Brytta folded her arms impatiently. "So, what's the problem? Other humans find dwarven women icky and you have to keep it a secret? I can keep my yap shut, you know."

"It isn't that…" Duncan's eyes squeezed shut, his face contorting like he was in pain. Brytta had a sudden, horrible thought.

"Oh Ancestors! You were in love with a dwarven woman and now you feel bad because you lost her and now you want another."

"No! Maker no…" Duncan opened his eyes and looked at Brytta directly, the expression full of sorrow and desire. "Brytta, I'm going to die soon. You know how Wardens have about ten to thirty years left after the Joining? I've been a Warden for twenty-eight. I will die in the next two years, assuming I don't perish in the Blight. I will die far sooner than you deserve."

Brytta stared at the human, aghast. _This_ was his problem? By the tits of her Stone-cursed Ancestors, did he think she'd curl up and die if she lost him? Not sodding likely! If he died before the Blight's end, she'd march up to the archdemon and feed the creature two feet of sharp iron. If he survived the Blight, she'd count every day a good one and thank her Ancestors for their kindness.

…She realised that she wanted something long-term with Duncan, not a quick tumble like she'd once had with Leske. He was far too lonely and she knew what it was like; he was responsible for others and she'd been that way with Rica and her mother. They were both Dusters (well, he was a human one, but same difference!) and they made each other laugh. This was as good as the Ancestors made it.

Duncan nodded sadly, obviously misreading the reason for her expression. "Brytta… If it makes you feel better, I am so very, very tempted. You are a lovely, wonderful person who will make someone very happy one day. But it can't be me. I'm sorry."

The Duster resisted the urge to march over and slap his face because her feet were beginning to hurt. So instead she snatched the blanket from his hand and did her best to stomp (without causing more damage to her feet) back to the chair. If he was going to be stubborn, then let him have the cold lonely bed upstairs while she snuggled comfortably by the fire.

She heard him sigh and turn away, stairs creaking as he went back upstairs. When he was gone, she let herself cry just a little – enough to let her sorrow out but not enough to cloud her head – before wrapping herself in the blanket and going to sleep.

Tomorrow, she could start on her next plan to make him see sense.

…

They were two more days in Cloudfields before Mhuir decreed Brytta could walk properly again. She could tell Duncan was chafing at the delay and apologised constantly until he snapped at her to stop it. One of the surface dwarves then solemnly informed her that the customary form of retaliation involved sheep's droppings in his bed. Given it wasn't really Duncan's bed, they decided that a big slimy green frog was a more appropriate revenge. The Warden-Commander's startled curse made it worth the tongue-lashing she got from Mhuir for bringing in the frog.

Her new boots were lovely and soft, the sort of thing a deshyr would kill to own: lined in lambswool, soled with cowhide, dyed a lovely shade of blue to match her leathers. She'd also gotten new smallclothes, breeches and a shirt of sturdy linen and wool to go under her armour; in return, she'd traded all the bits of loot she'd picked up from that eventful day in Orzammar. From the way Kolgan's eyes lit up, he'd make a nice profit. That was fair enough. She didn't begrudge the brothers their association with Beraht; after all, she'd done worse for him, right?

Once on the road to Redcliffe, Duncan was able to catch rides with merchant caravans, most of whom were happy to have two Grey Wardens along as extra protection. They arrived in the town four days after leaving the Frostback Mountains just in time to catch Alistair, the Warden-Ensign Duncan kept on telling her about. Brytta had the sneaking suspicion the Warden-Commander was trying to match them up by all the stories of how nice and good he was.

Alistair was taller than Duncan even with broader shoulders and the rounded, bulging muscles of a sword-and-shield fighter. He was boyishly handsome with laughing amber eyes and a bright smile. He was even nice and kind.

Unfortunately for him, he was also dumb as a tunnel full of miners high on lyrium vapours and talked more than a room full of bored noble-hunters. If _this_ was what Duncan thought she deserved instead of him, she was going to have to sit on the Warden-Commander's chest and use short, simple words to explain just exactly where, how and why he was wrong.

"Duncan! I'm so glad to see you alive!" Alistair greeted as he strode across the big hall in the… castle… which belonged to a human noble called Arl Eamon. "You're a week late."

"Alistair, it's good to see you." Duncan clasped both of the lad's forearms in a gesture of affection. He obviously liked Alistair and so Brytta resolved to be nice to the moron. Maybe it wasn't his fault he was dumb; the blood would have a harder time reaching his brain than it would with Duncan. She'd just make sure he was sitting down when important things needed to be discussed. "Here is the reason I am late."

Arl Eamon, a worried-looking man with braided grey hair, looked Brytta over thoughtfully. "Welcome, Warden-Recruit Brytta," the nobleman said with a slight bow of the head. "It is an honour to have you in my hall."

Brytta returned the warrior's bow Duncan had drilled her in. "You honour me, Arl. This is the finest hall I've ever seen."

"I imagine it's the only one you've seen," observed Bann Teagan, the Arl's little brother, with a crinkling of the eyes. "Your reputation precedes you; the surface dwarven community is abuzz with news of your deeds."

Brytta shrugged awkwardly. She'd never planned on being famous like this. "I did it to protect my family, my lord. It wasn't anything that special."

From the corner of her eye she saw the bitter flash of envy in Alistair's amber gaze before he simply bowed and said, "Welcome to the Grey, Warden-Recruit. You will be a welcome addition to our ranks."

_Huh, I wonder what his problem is,_ Brytta wondered as she returned the bow. From the body language of the three humans before her, Eamon, Teagan and Alistair knew each other, and he shared a similar accent to the two noblemen. The lad also looked to Duncan for guidance and affection.

_By the Stone-forsaken balls of my father's fathers, it'd be my sodding luck if the boy's in love with Duncan!_ She might need to rely on this Alistair to stay alive in the coming days, and if he resented her because he perceived her as stealing Duncan's affections, that could put her life in danger. He might be an idiot but he didn't seem like a bad person. _Damn._ She'd have no problem with throwing a prick to the wolves but not a nice guy…

"I need to confer privately with Arl Eamon and Bann Teagan. Maybe you two could spend some time together getting to know each other?" Duncan suggested – most unsubtly. Yup, he was trying to hook her and Alistair up!

"Yeah, of course." Brytta rubbed the back of her neck. "Got any decent ale?"

"There's a surface dwarf merchant named Dwyn in Redcliffe village," Teagan suggested with a smile. "Go buy a small cask from him and come back here. I don't recommend drinking at Lloyd's. It's a bit of a dive."

Brytta snorted. "You ever been to Tapster's? Now _that's_ a dive!"

Teagan grinned. "Point taken, Warden-Recruit. Maker watch over you."

"May He watch over us all," Alistair immediately replied as Brytta said, "Atrast tunsha."

She needed to learn something about this Maker the surfacers worshipped. She'd even heard _dwarves_ married in His temples! Maybe if the Ancestors couldn't hear you under the sky, maybe it was the Maker who answered things. She didn't know. She really wasn't one for praying.

The three men exited the room, leaving Alistair and Brytta staring awkwardly at each other with four human guards watching them impassively. Finally Brytta shrugged and said, "So, you ever drink dwarven ale?"

Alistair shook his head. "No. I drink two human beers and fall asleep. Now Warden-Second Grigor, there's a man who can drink!" He then proceeded to tell the tale of a bushy-bearded Anderfels man who drank a pint to every other Warden's half-pint and still outdrank them all as they walked from the castle to the village. Brytta looked forward to meeting the man.

"So… how'd you get recruited?" she asked when he was done talking. This sort of knowledge could help her sound him out on his feelings concerning Duncan.

"Me? Oh! Short story: I was trained as a templar – someone who hunts down apostate mages – but I really didn't want to be one. Duncan thought my abilities could be useful against emissaries, so he conscripted me – _much_ to the Grand Cleric's displeasure – and I became a Grey Warden." Alistair ran a hand through his short, bristly golden-brown hair. "I owe him a lot."

"Don't we all?" Brytta agreed. "So, what's a templar, exactly?"

Alistair explained his ability to disrupt magic as they walked past the Chantry on the way to Dwyn's house… and how the clerics got the warriors addicted to lyrium. Brytta winced; that was _nasty_. She felt a bit sorrier for him. "So he saved your life, huh?"

"Yes…" Alistair looked down at her warily. "So… what's between you and Duncan? He is _so_ carefully not looking at you and you keep on looking at him like he's an idiot or something."

"Huh. You're smarter than you look," Brytta drawled.

"Thanks," Alistair replied dryly. "You still haven't answered my question."

"I hit on him and he turned me down because he's going to die in a couple years," Brytta continued, her voice full of exasperation and frustration. "I can't quite get it through his thick head that I'm a Duster who's used to living each day as if it could be my last! By the tits of my Stone-cursed mother's mothers, I'd rather have a couple days or months or years with him than spend thirty wishing for what could've been!"

Then she winced as Alistair stared at her, jaw dropped and mouth open to reveal a nice set of teeth that Artisan Caste denture-maker would have paid good silver for. "Uh… I'm sorry. That was probably too much information for you."

_Crap. I think he's in love with Duncan too._ Brytta thought Alistair wasn't too bright but she didn't want to hurt him. And yes, after a month of meeting him, she was willing to admit that she loved Duncan. What else could she call this feeling of wanting to see him laugh, smile and be happy?

Alistair snapped his mouth shut and shook his head, cheeks staining a dull red. "Umm… no. It's not that. Umm… How do I explain this? I was sent to become a templar at the age of ten… and we're… umm… sworn to celibacy."

Brytta gave the blushing Warden a confused glance. "What the fuck is celibacy?"

Alistair's face went puce. "It's… They're not allowed… todoanythingthatleadstobabies!"

Brytta mimicked the expression Alistair had shown a minute ago before she found her voice again. "What the fuck? It's official. You cloudheads are idiots because the blood can't reach your brains when you stand. I think you all ought to sit down and reconsider your social structure very, very carefully."

Alistair stared at her… and then burst out laughing. Not just laughing, but full-on clutching his stomach, tears in his eyes, roaring loud enough to set off every dog in the place laughing. Villagers going past looked at them oddly. Finally, the Warden-Ensign got a hold of himself to find a toe-tapping, arms-crossed, on-her-way-to-getting-pissed Brytta staring at him.

"I'm sorry… Please forgive me… That's… just… one of the funniest things I've ever heard." The lad grinned, wiping at his eyes. "Oh Maker… Please, _please_ say that in front of the Grand Cleric. Her head would explode: I kid you not."

"Huh, sounds like the reaction of the Proving Master when Duncan recruited me," Brytta agreed cheerfully. "I have to admit, giving that bastard the finger was a highlight of my day."

"You and Daveth are going to get on wonderfully…" Alistair shook his head and cleared his throat. "So you're in love with Duncan?"

"Are you?" Brytta countered before she could stop herself.

"Uh me? Oh, Maker no! I like girls. Pretty girls. Umm, not that you're not pretty, but I think you'd kick my arse if I said anything like that to you." Alistair was babbling and Brytta figured he wasn't used to talking to girls. Where was Leske when you needed him? He'd have the poor lad hooked up with a noble-hunter quicker than you could blink!

"He's… _everything_ to me. Saved me from being a templar, cared about what _I_ wanted, doesn't care that I'm a bastard… He's father and teacher and commander and friend to me. Does that make sense?"

Brytta nodded understandingly. "Yeah, totally. And yes, I think I love him. I want him to be happy. I like making him laugh. He's too much alone."

"I agree…" Alistair looked thoughtful as they reached the docks near Dwyn's home; he obviously knew where he was going because Brytta didn't. "So Duncan's intent on being unspeakably noble and gallant, huh?"

"Yes!" Brytta growled in frustration.

"He's stubborn; I think he could move mountains just by using his will," Alistair continued. "But I imagine dwarves are pretty stubborn and know a thing or two about moving rocks too, right?"

"Yes…" Brytta eyed the templar. "What's your point?"

"_You_ want Duncan to be happy. _I_ want Duncan to be happy. _Duncan_ won't let himself be happy because he's a stubborn git at times, much as we love him. So if you survive the Joining, I'll help you get him." Alistair suddenly looked worried. "Uh… I wasn't supposed to tell you the Joining bit."

"I'd pretty much gathered it and Duncan confirmed it," Brytta said softly since they were near Dwyn's house. "I'd… like to get started soon… But you're the full Warden. If you think it's better we wait until after the Joining…"

"I do. Duncan might have to worry about you dying, but it would be no more or less risk than any other Grey Warden," Alistair said firmly. He knelt to look Brytta in the eye, then spat in his right hand and offered it to her. "We have a deal?"

Brytta mimicked the gesture and clasped hands with the templar. "Deal. Now let's seal it in the traditional dwarven manner."

"Lots of alcohol and violence? I'm game!" Alistair said cheerfully as they entered Dwyn's home. Brytta decided then and there she liked him.


	4. Meetings

Note: Dratted plot-nugs. I should be sleeping now! And since one of my friends is a Loghain fan, I might just make him a nice person in this story since it's AU anyways… And I'm having Duncan do the _smart thing_ and explain a couple things to Loghain. :)

…

**Part 4: Meetings**

"…So I raised my middle finger and then turned my back on the entire Warrior Caste to walk towards a grand destiny as a Grey Warden," Brytta concluded, swallowing the last of her ale to the appreciative cheers of her audience.

The soldiers of Ferelden's army within Ostagar were a wide and varied lot, ranging from idiot knights as rigid as any damnfool sword-caste to rogues who made Dusters look nice, but they all appreciated a well-told story. Since arriving at the ruins where they would be facing off against the horde, Brytta and Alistair had spent five hours sleeping and the other seven of the twelve allotted to their rest before the Joining getting to know the troops.

From Redcliffe to Lothering, Brytta had used her storytelling and gem-carving skills to trade for much-needed supplies after Duncan had regretfully confessed that tithes had been thin on the ground this year. Poor Alistair had been forced to fight a pack of bandits in crappy human-forged splintmail of grey iron, given to him by Arl Eamon (who'd apparently raised him), with a standard-issue Warden's iron longsword! Thankfully the lead bandit had owned a well-used but still sound set of steel chainmail, the splintmail practically tucked away in the mule cart of supplies Bann Teagan had pressed upon them before they'd left Redcliffe. An aggrieved word (and lurid descriptions of the darkspawn) to the drunks at Lothering's tavern had yielded a battered yew kite shield and a plain steel longsword left behind by a dead mercenary two weeks before.

Yes, humans really needed to sit down more because few of them believed this was a real Blight. When Brytta had met King Cailan on the road, he seemed disappointed about the lack of an archdemon. Interestingly enough she saw Alistair duck behind the mule cart as the human King approached; when she saw the golden good looks of the biggest human idiot she'd ever met (not even lying down could make Cailan smarter!), she saw the resemblance. Maybe it had something to do with the human's idiotic notion of bastardry. Every child was precious (well, unless you were casteless) amongst the dwarves; Alistair's mother should have been a recognised concubine once she was pregnant with the boy – after all, he was the same gender as his father! But _nooooo_, these humans had kids and didn't recognise them and dumped them in the Chantry. Rica would be appalled when Brytta told her!

Duncan had reacted strangely to her friendship with Alistair for a man who'd sworn he couldn't get involved with her for her sake. He watched them laugh and joke grimly, retreating into that grave silent façade she recalled from the Proving Commons. She wanted to grab Alistair, have him tie up the stubborn Warden-Commander, and then go tend the fire while she kissed Duncan into submission. But the Warden-Ensign had suggested leaving that for after the Joining because she faced the major possibility of death. She had to trust the big human.

It was good to have somebody watching her back again. Much as Brytta missed Leske, she also knew that he would have sold her out for a half-loaf of bread. _She_ would have betrayed Leske for a half-loaf of bread for Rica. Did it make her any better? Probably not. But it made her feel better about herself.

But Alistair was the sort of guy who'd starve before selling out his friends and probably give his last bit of bread to a hungry beggar. The Duster in Brytta called him 'too dumb to live'. But the woman who wanted to be better than that called him 'what she ought to be like'. So she decided then and there she was going to keep this good man alive.

"So. You're the new recruit." A rough, cheerful man's voice cut through Brytta's reverie as Alistair leapt to his feet and clasped hands with a lean, dark-haired human who had to be Daveth.

"Brytta, this is Daveth, a thief and cutpurse from Denerim. Daveth, this is Brytta Brosca, a recruit whose background makes yours look tame," Alistair introduced with a grin.

"So… You're the Duster who fucked off the entire Warrior Caste in one day?" Daveth asked with a grin as he and Brytta clasped hands.

"So you're the guy who fucked off the entire City Guard of Denerim?" Brytta countered, sharing the rogue's broad grin. This was a kindred spirit indeed!

"That's me!" Daveth laughed. "Maybe Duncan's got a thing for street rats like us, huh?"

"Might be," Brytta agreed.

"So! There's another recruit here. He's Ser Jory. Got his head full of tales about glory and honour and stuff." Daveth leaned forward, throwing a mockingly cautious glance at the grinning Alistair, and whispered loudly, "I think all the metal he wears has gotten to his brain. It's why warriors are so stupid."

"Y'know, Brytta thinks it's because we're all so tall that the blood has trouble getting to our brains," Alistair observed wryly.

"Huh! So the metal constricts the blood getting to the brain, which doesn't help because you're all standing up most of the time," Brytta mused aloud. "Thanks, Daveth. You've finally explained why King Cailan is the dumbest man in the camp."

"I wonder how the King would react to the mockery of those he actively favours?" demanded a harsh, deep voice behind Brytta. The auburn-haired girl turned to face a big, dark-haired human clad in mountains of silverite armour, his face grim and expressionless.

"Fuck, that's Loghain, Teyrn of Gwaren!" Daveth whispered. "Be polite, Brytta!"

The Duster took a deep breath, looking defiantly up at the 'teyrn'. "Your King strikes me as the sort of guy who'd probably laugh, agree and thank his Ancestors he's got a perfectly smart wife to run things, my lord," she countered. "He strikes me as having a sense of humour."

Loghain snorted. "Defiance, a compliment to my daughter and an insult to me all in one sentence, Brytta Brosca. You would make a fine courtier."

The dwarf winced. "That, ser, is the greatest insult you could offer a Duster."

The teyrn shook his head, lips twitching. "You're right about Cailan, girl, but you should be more careful of what you say. Some of the nobility lack Cailan's… _sense of humour_."

"That's true," Alistair muttered. Again he was trying to conceal his face.

Loghain snorted again. "Give it up, Alistair. I'm not going to drag you off to the dungeon for leaving the Chantry."

"Uh…" Now the Warden-Ensign looked up, his expression stunned.

"Why would Alistair be jailed for leavin' the Chantry?" Daveth hissed to Brytta.

"Take a look at his nose and then take a look at the King's and put the two together," Brytta whispered as Loghain watched with a raised eyebrow.

Daveth was pretty smart for a standing human male. "Oh."

"Yeah."

Loghain shook his head at the trio. "I think I am relieved you're Duncan's problem and not mine," he observed sardonically. "Now if you'll excuse me, I need to prepare for tomorrow's battle."

Brytta bowed, as did Daveth and Alistair, as the man walked away. _Huh, a half-decent noble,_ she thought. "So who's he when he's at home?"

"The closest thing Ferelden has to a Paragon," Alistair promptly replied. "He's the one who masterminded the campaign which freed us from the Orlesians."

"Wow."

"What he said is true." Duncan's voice made the three nearly jump out of their skins and turn quickly to face the Warden-Commander. "Cailan favours us and there are nobles who do not approve of it. You would be wise to guard your tongues."

At the stern, almost angry expression on Duncan's face, Brytta could have died of embarrassment. Here was she wanting to make him happy and instead she'd managed to piss him off. The Stone should just swallow her whole now. "I'm sorry," she mumbled, cheeks blushing red as Alistair's around anything remotely related to sex.

"I will make our apologies to Cailan and explain that you come from a place where little respect is shown for the nobility with just cause," Duncan said kindly. "However, it is time for you, Daveth and Jory to start the preparations for the Joining."

"As the Junior Warden-Ensign, I will be joining you on a little trip to the Wilds," Alistair said, his voice suddenly authoritative, as a bulky, close-cropped man who could only be Jory arrived. "There we shall collect three vials of darkspawn blood."

"You must also locate an abandoned Grey Warden outpost and find a number of treaties which give us the right to call aid from the Dalish elves, dwarves and the Circle of Magi," Duncan added. "I have given Alistair an approximate map."

"Why was it abandoned?" Jory asked.

"We lost the funds to maintain it and a raid by the Chasind…" Duncan shrugged. "It doesn't matter. What does is getting the blood and the treaties."

"Why do we need the blood?"

"It will become apparent in time. Now hurry and return safely." For the first time in days, Duncan's eyes fully met Brytta's, blazing with emotion. She met that fathomless gaze and tried to put her feelings into her own; it must have worked because the Warden-Commander closed his eyes and bowed his head gravely.

_Stupid stubborn cloudheaded idiot!_ Yet as she marched towards the gates in the shadows of her taller companions, Brytta couldn't be sure if she was insulting herself or Duncan.

…

Cailan roared with laughter. Not for the first time, Duncan regretted the young man's status as King of Ferelden. He genuinely believed Maric's eldest, like his youngest, would be happiest as a Grey Warden. He was a careless, good-natured and generous lad who was smart enough to know he wasn't the best ruler around and hence left it to his wife's capable hands. Vain and arrogant too but the sort not to take a careless jest as insult despite the best efforts of _certain_ nobles.

"She's a feisty one, Duncan!" the King of Ferelden chuckled.

"A bit mouthy though," Rendon Howe observed silkily from the shadows. If Duncan had met this man on the streets of Val Royeaux as a thief, he'd have declared him 'bent', the worst insult the criminal underworld could bestow on one of their numbers. "You should discipline your recruits more, Duncan."

"There was no malice in what the girl said," Loghain argued sardonically from his place by the map table.

"She insulted you as well," Howe pointed out.

"Oh, I've heard worse than being told I have no sense of humour," Loghain scoffed. "Besides, it may be all immaterial. She could be dead by sunset tomorrow. Shall we focus on more important issues than an impertinent Warden-Recruit?"

The Teyrn of Gwaren quickly outlined the battle plan: Duncan and the Grey Wardens would hold the centre and draw the darkspawn while Rendon Howe would charge from the left and Loghain from the right at the lighting of a beacon on the top of the Tower of Ishal. Maker willing it would be enough to draw the archdemon from hiding and out into the open where a Grey Warden could kill it.

Duncan inwardly sighed; as the eldest of the Wardens in Ferelden, it would be his duty to slay the beast. He wouldn't shirk it by any means but he found himself regretting that his plans involving Brytta and Alistair had worked so well. The dwarf and the templar were inseparable these days; when he was dead and gone, they could console each other. But Duncan wished that he'd once, just _once_, taken Brytta up on her offer of bedsport before she faced the nigh-certainty of death during the Joining. Not because it had been a long time since he'd been intimate with anybody… but because it would have been good to feel a little less lonely, if only for a short while.

_Duncan, you cannot be so selfish. You will be dead soon and Brytta needs someone who will be there for her._ But would Alistair, kind and gentle and sweet as he was, ever truly understand the choices someone from Dust Town faced? He'd judge Brytta for killing that lyrium smuggler who held out on Beraht or her sister Rica for being a whore.

"Warden-Commander." Loghain's harsh voice cut through his thoughts. "You seem preoccupied."

Duncan sighed and nodded. "Forgive me. I was thinking about the Joining to come."

Loghain nodded curtly. "Understandable. But we must attend to the battle plan or we will all die, not just a few."

"I am duly chastised." Despite his fear and concern for Brytta and the need to be diplomatic to Loghain, Duncan couldn't help a trace of wry sarcasm to his reply.

"Grey Wardens!" Only Loghain would make the name of their Order sound like a curse as he shook his head, a twitch of his lips indicating his legendary dry sense of humour had been pricked. "The plan is set, then. Anything you wish to add?"

"Yes… When the archdemon comes, a Grey Warden must take the deathblow. Preferably myself, but another if I fall or they are closer."

Loghain's pale grey eyes, hard as steel, narrowed. "Something tells me you aren't making this suggestion out of glory."

"Arrek. Mhairi. Jimmy the Red. Garahel. A dwarf, two humans, and an elf. What three things do they all have in common, Teyrn Loghain?"

It was Cailan who answered eagerly. "They were all Grey Wardens who slew an archdemon…" The King's voice faltered for a moment. "…And died."

Duncan inclined his head. "I cannot reveal too much but as is known we Grey Wardens can sense the darkspawn. The same reason we can do this allows us to also kill the archdemon… and keep it dead. We also die in the process."

"…I see." Loghain knuckled his eyes. "I assume you Grey Wardens have ways of knowing it is a Blight then?"

Duncan allowed himself a wry grin. "If it weren't a Blight, Teyrn Loghain, I would not have spent much of the past year harassing people for tithes and recruits and therefore annoying _certain_ members of the nobility." His dark eyes flickered to Howe, one of the main opponents of the Grey Wardens' presence in Ferelden.

Loghain nodded grimly. "…I see. I had hoped it was just a large raid…"

"It could still be," Howe suggested. If the archdemon wanted a snack, Duncan would happily throw the Arl of Amaranthine into its maw.

"No. The darkspawn raids are increasing, not decreasing," Loghain replied with a weary sigh.

"So it is a Blight then! Glorious!" Cailan looked pleased as punch and the Warden-Commander of Ferelden shared a single understanding glance with the Teyrn of Gwaren: _Brytta was right. Cailan really _was_ the dumbest man in the camp._

"Your Majesty, you must be with me," Loghain said bluntly, only to be chopped off by Cailan's hand.

"No! I will stand by the Grey Wardens."

"Being the anvil is the most dangerous position to be in this sort of conflict," Loghain countered. "Being the flanks is a better position for one of your fighting ability."

"I have the skill to stand with the Wardens!"

"Your Majesty," Duncan began, trying to find a way to be diplomatic, "I cannot guarantee your safety. Me and mine's first priority will be to kill the darkspawn and the archdemon if it comes. I cannot… or will not… spare the men or time to keep you alive. If the choice between killing a darkspawn or saving your life were presented…" He let the words trail off.

"I will stand with you, Duncan. My decision is final."

"…As you wish," Duncan replied, the words forced out through gritted teeth. If Cailan died in the coming battle, the high nobility of Ferelden would accuse the Wardens of allowing him to die.

Loghain wasn't so sanguine. "Were you dropped on your head as a child?" he raged. "If Maric were alive to see this stupidity…!"

"Well, he isn't. And I must do what is right as King." Cailan's voice was firm and Duncan sighed inwardly. For a moment, his mind flashed to the image of a wide bed in Cloudfields, auburn hair tickling his nose as he curled around a small, pale-skinned dwarven woman for warmth. It would be something he could never have and he forced his dark, scarred arms to be replaced by the tanned, bulging arms of his oldest friend's son.

_That was a bad idea,_ Duncan thought as he imagined pummelling Alistair in a jealous rage… He'd set it up; now he must endure the consequences.

And ignore the longing he'd seen in a pair of beautiful malachite-green eyes.

"I cannot argue with you," Loghain said in disgust. "Now, who shall light the beacon?"

"We should send our best. Alistair and any of the Grey Warden recruits who survive the Joining." Before anybody could respond, Cailan ploughed on ahead with, "It will also keep the only other living Theirin and the youngest Wardens alive should something go wrong."

Duncan barely managed to not gape at Cailan; he'd never expected the King to demonstrate such forethought. "Majesty, Grey Wardens leave their families behind when they join the Order. Alistair is no longer a Theirin; he never was to begin with."

Cailan sighed dramatically. "Rules change in a Blight, Duncan. I have no children and there is no clear-cut line of succession; Alistair is recognised as heir-designate. He seems like a nice sort and if he's smart – and I think he is – he will keep Anora around as chancellor or something if he doesn't marry her."

Loghain's lips pursed. "…As you wish, Cailan. I will adjust the battle-plan accordingly."

"Excellent! Then we are done here." The King didn't even wait for the bows before he swept out of Loghain's tent with his bodyguards. Howe inclined his head and left with the catlike grace of a trained assassin.

The Teyrn of Gwaren and the Warden-Commander looked at each other searchingly. "Perhaps I misjudged you when you first came to Ferelden," the Hero of the River Dane finally said after a long moment of silence. "I thought you agents of the Emperor, trying to subvert Maric and bring Ferelden back under Orlesian rule."

"And that stupid Orlesian bastard of a First Enchanter… Can't remember his name… didn't make matters easier," Duncan agreed with a sigh.

"Maric never gave me the full story about that little trip to the Deep Roads," Loghain continued. "I don't suppose you will, since we're possibly going to die tomorrow?"

"If I were to tell you everything that happened on that journey, I would have to conscript you," Duncan replied honestly. "Orders from Weisshaupt. Some amongst the Grey would argue I told you too much by explaining why a Warden must take the deathblow of an archdemon."

Loghain nodded grimly. "…I see. I have a feeling you'd like to tell somebody, Warden-Commander. That sort of shadow lingers in a man's eyes."

"It does," Duncan admitted with a sigh. "I need to return to my tent. The recruits are due back soon."

Loghain almost smiled. "Eager to see your mouthy dwarven girl again, are we?"

"She is not my-"

"Of _course_ she isn't. And _I'm_ Orlesian!" Loghain snorted. "Go to her, Warden. We've done all we can to prepare for the battle."

"…Maker watch over you, Teyrn."

"And you, Warden."

…

"Well, well, well. What have we here?"

Brytta rose to her feet as a black-haired woman, sleek and predatory, climbed down from amidst the higher slopes of the ruined Warden outpost. The human had sharp features and slanted yellow eyes; maybe she was this Flemeth that Daveth had told bloodcurdling tales about?

"Are you scavengers, perhaps, wandering in these darkspawn-filled Wilds of mine? Or vultures perhaps, poking amidst the bones of a long-dead corpse?" The woman prowled closer, alien yellow eyes focused on the foursome. Jory gulped, Daveth looked scared, Alistair settled into a battle stance; Brytta simply stared at the female and folded her arms stubbornly.

"I have watched your progress for some time. 'Where do they go', I wondered, 'Why are they here?' And now you disturb ruins none have touched for centuries. Why is that, I wonder?"

"Don't talk to her," Alistair advised quietly. "She looks Chasind and that means others could be nearby."

"Ooooh," the woman said mockingly. "Do you fear that barbarians will swoop down upon you?"

"Yes. Because swooping is bad," Alistair retorted.

Brytta rolled her eyes. There were no treaties here and she would bet her nice bow that this female – who was probably a mage if the big stick-thing she carried was any indication – knew where they were. "This was a Grey Warden outpost, ma'am, and we came here looking for some paperwork," she admitted, ignoring Alistair's strangled cry of protest. "If you know where it is, we'd be much obliged if you took us to it."

"A sensible request, though I fear the name of the Grey Wardens means little here," the mage replied. "I shall give you my name if you give me yours."

"Brytta. Nice to meet you," Brytta said, meaning it. Sure, the mage wasn't one of those Circle types, but she acted like she had the same sense of humour the Duster herself possessed.

"Now that is a civil greeting, even here in the Wilds! You may call me Morrigan. As for your treaties, they are no longer here."

"You took them, didn't you? You're some kind of sneaky… witch-thief!" Alistair accused.

"How very eloquent. How does one steal from dead men, I wonder?"

"Quite easily, it seems. I advise you return them!"

"I will not, for 'twas not I who took them."

"So who did?" Brytta said, cutting through the developing argument between the mage and the templar.

"'Twas my mother, in fact."

"Awesome! Can you take us to her?"

"Now _there_ is a sensible request." Morrigan laughed. "I like you."

"Be careful. One moment it's 'I like you' and then 'Zap! Frog time!'" Alistair warned.

"She'll put us all in the pot, she will!" Daveth blurted. Brytta thought he was smarter than that, but he _was_ standing, after all.

"If the pot's warmer than this damned forest, it'll be a nice change!" Jory countered. Probably the smartest thing he'd said all night.

"Follow me then, if it pleases you." Morrigan turned and led them away from the ruins.

Brytta dropped behind momentarily to call her male companions idiots before jogging to reach the witch's side again. "Sorry about that," she said to the rag-clad woman. "I should've made them sit down so they wouldn't be so stupid."

"Oh?" Morrigan's voice had an amused edge to it.

"Yeah. I'm probably telling you something you already know, but…" Brytta went on to explain her theory of how metal and height combined to make blood have trouble reaching the brain, and that was why human males were so stupid at times. Morrigan's smile increased into a grin as she chattered on while the three men behind them grumbled.

"A most intriguing theory," Morrigan finally said when Brytta was done talking. "'Tis a reasonable explanation for why so many templars come chasing Mother and I in the Wilds."

"No, that'd be the lyrium they get," Brytta replied. "Even the dumbest man I know wouldn't come bother you here unless he was high on the stuff."

"Templars are given…?" Morrigan began and then narrowed her eyes. "Of course, much makes sense now. I almost pity them."

"Yeah. Alistair was supposed to be one and you know they're not allowed to have sex? I mean, they're given lyrium… At least they should be allowed to fuck while they've got their wits about them."

"I'd really appreciate it if you keep my secrets from the evil witch!" Alistair called from behind.

"She hasn't turned you into a frog yet so she can't be evil!" Brytta retorted.

"She's a Witch of the Wilds. They eat babies!" Daveth protested.

"Are they still telling that old tale?" Morrigan mused aloud. "How tiresome."

"I promise they're smarter when they're sitting down," Brytta said. "Well, Alistair and Daveth are. I haven't seen Jory sitting down yet, so I can't tell you if he's smarter or not."

"Sitting down?" Jory asked, confusedly. "What does that have to do with intelligence?"

Brytta rolled her eyes as Morrigan laughed. Soon they arrived at the home of the witch's mother, where an old, ragged woman waited outside with a sheaf of papers in her hand.

"Greetings, Mother. I-"

"I know who they are and why they are here." The old woman rudely interrupted Morrigan.

"So this is a dreaded Witch of the Wilds?" Alistair asked mockingly.

"Witch of the Wilds! Has Morrigan told you her tales again? Oh, how she dances beneath the moon!" The old woman cackled. "And yes, I have your treaties. I kept them safe. And before you ask, the seal wore off long ago."

"You-Oh. Never mind," Alistair mumbled. "I can't believe you did that."

"Why not? Do I believe in you? Maybe. Maybe not!" Eerie yellow eyes settled on Brytta. "What do you believe in, Duster girl?"

"That believed or not, some things must be accepted," Brytta replied carefully. "Thanks for returning these treaties, ma'am."

"Such manners! And an open mind, but one not made of mush! Do I compliment you? We shall see!" The old woman cackled again and handed Brytta the treaties.

"Thank you. If there's anything we can do to repay you…" Dusters always acknowledged their debts. It was the only way to survive sometimes.

"There is." The witch looked pleased. "Morrigan, you will be returning with them."

"I… _What?_" Morrigan actually lost her expression of cool arrogance to stare at her mother.

"You heard me. And you've been wanting to get out of the Wilds for years. Here's your chance."

"I…"

"The Grey Wardens are currently lacking a mage, it's true," Alistair mused. "I'd rather a Circle one though, but anyone will do…"

"I'm not offering her as a recruit. I am sending her to aid you in the Blight," the old woman said sharply. "I am giving my most precious possession to you."

Something about the way she said that made Brytta take notice. The old witch had an ulterior motive… But they owed her a debt. "We'll take her and she won't come to harm with us, ma'am. I'd like to stay and chat, but I think we'd better get back to Ostagar quickly."

"…Let me get my things and I will show you a shortcut," Morrigan said as she headed back into the hut. Within a few minutes she returned with a small bag slung over her shoulder.

"Farewell, Mother. I left some soup on the stove. Don't set fire to the cottage."

"Hah! You are probably wishing otherwise."

"I…" Morrigan's eyes glittered for a moment before she blinked and nodded curtly. "I shall see you soon, I hope."

The old woman smiled creepily. "Yes, you shall. Do try to have fun."

With that, Morrigan led them away from the hut through a secret trail in the swamp. Ten minutes down the track, Brytta turned to the mage and said, "That was Flemeth, wasn't it?"

"Yes. Do the dwarves tell stories of her too?"

"Nah. Daveth told me about her and she fits the part of 'evil creepy witch' really well." Brytta looked at Morrigan and smiled. "My mother's a bitch too. If I'd let her define my life, I'd be just another beggar or drunk or whore. Make your own choices, Morrigan, and don't let _anybody_ else define you."

The dark-haired sorceress was silent for the rest of the trip but often regarded Brytta and the others thoughtfully. It took them an hour to return to Ostagar along the tracks Morrigan showed them, Brytta and Daveth trading tall tales about improbable thefts they'd committed while Alistair and Jory believed it all.

Just before the gates, Alistair murmured to Brytta, "How are we going to explain the presence of an apostate with us to the templars if she's not a recruit?"

The dwarf shrugged. "That's Duncan's problem, not ours. _I'm_ just a Warden-Recruit."

"I _love_ the way you buck responsibility," the templar observed dryly as they headed to the bonfire where Duncan waited, silent and still as a statue.

"That isn't the only thing you love about me," Brytta retorted. "…So. Let's get this show over and done with, shall we?"


	5. Blood

Note: Thanks for the reviews! I think the plot nugs are now eating those and driving me forth. Given that Duncan's part-Rivaini, the country which is loosely based on the Barbary Pirates of North Africa (as I understand it), I will use the odd bit of Arabic for him. _maHábba_ means 'love', _'ána 'uHíbbuka_ means (I think) 'I love you', and _kosma yara_ means 'I swear blood'. I've also decided to give Cailan the berserker specialisation because I somehow think it would fit him. :)

…

**Part 5: Blood**

He'd lost her.

"…That isn't the only thing you love about me," Brytta said in response to some jest of Alistair's. "…So. Let's get this show over and done with, shall we?"

The little dwarven woman had returned with Alistair, the other two recruits, and a strange woman who looked Chasind and could only be an apostate with the staff across her back. Duncan supposed, as he gritted his teeth and forced his expression into the stern, guarded one he used with everyone, that she'd come to join the Wardens too – or else Alistair wouldn't have tolerated her presence. Brytta spotted him and smiled sunnily, waving a hand that contained what could only be the treaties, before trotting over with everyone else in tow.

"You have found the blood and treaties then?" Duncan asked once she was within speaking difference, trying to keep his voice calm and level. "And have you a vial for our unexpected recruit?"

"We've a spare vial filled in case one broke…" Alistair began, scrubbing the back of his neck. "But Morrigan has come as an ally. Her mother, Flemeth, had preserved the treaties for us and her price for doing so was bringing Morrigan with us."

Duncan sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Flemeth? I suppose a Blight would threaten even her… I am grateful, Lady Morrigan, for your mother's assistance but explaining your presence to the templars here without you being a recruit will be… difficult."

The Chasind witch regarded him coolly with strange yellow eyes. "Do you subscribe to the Chantry's teachings then?"

"Personally? No. Grey Wardens take whatever help we can get and do not judge. But I do not have the authority to protect you from the templars and we Grey Wardens are on thin ice with several of the nobility here." Duncan met the witch's strange eyes calmly. "I am not trying to frighten you into joining us, only explaining our position here so you can make a decision."

Though he was certainly hoping this strange witch would agree to join. They needed a mage and the Circle had refused them one. Duncan was… getting desperate. Especially after one of Fergus Cousland's scouts returned and gave an assessment of the horde.

"I see. 'Tis possible to die in the Joining, yes?"

"…Yes." Brytta and Alistair knew, but Jory and Daveth didn't, and both blanched.

"Make your own decisions. Don't let anybody tell you what to do," Brytta advised the witch.

"And if I were to simply walk away from you all? You would not stop me?"

"I doubt we really could. You know the Wilds better than us." Duncan sighed. "But make your decision quickly. Battle will be joined in less than ten hours and the Joining shall begin in half an hour."

"…I need some time to think." Duncan nearly jumped out of his skin as the woman transformed into a hawk and flew into the air. Maker's breath, the Wardens could use such a talent!

"Explains how she tracked us without being noticed," Brytta said cheerfully.

"Warden-Commander… Is it true… we can die in the Joining?" Jory asked nervously.

"Yes." Duncan looked directly at the suddenly sweating knight. "And there is no turning back. For _any_ of you."

"I…" Jory gulped and Daveth rolled his eyes.

"You saw them darkspawn, ser knight. Wouldn't you die to protect your pretty wife from them?"

"Yes…"

"So maybe you die, I die, Brytta dies. Y'know what, if we don't do anything, the Blight'll kill us all. I'd sacrifice a lot more than my life if it meant it'd be stopped."

"I've seen what the darkspawn does to the Stone, Jory," Brytta added quietly. "I've seen what it has done to the dwarves. Trust me, I'd do anything to stop it from happening up here."

Duncan was so proud of his two street rats his heart could burst. He'd expected Jory to be braver seeing as he had more to fight for but Daveth and his little Brytta… They should have been more ambivalent, much like he had been in the early days of being a Grey Warden. More self-centered, more concerned about survival…

He memorised the three-quarter profile of Brytta as her malachite-green eyes stabbed into Jory's unflinchingly: the curve of her branded, scarred cheek (he'd discovered the three red lines were from her mother slashing her face with a broken bottle once), the forehead brand concealed by loose auburn curls and a braided cloth headband (now blue and grey), the snub nose, sweetly curved rose-pink lips…

_You are a stupid old fool, mooning over a recruit young enough to be your daughter if not granddaughter!_ He'd done the right thing, bringing Brytta and Alistair together. _In war, victory. In peace, vigilance. In death, sacrifice._ He repeated the Grey Warden motto like a Revered Mother did the Chant of Light to keep himself sane.

"…I've just never faced a foe I could not engage with a blade. I only know that I've a wife and child in Highever…" Jory protested.

"You _chose_ to leave them," Brytta said mercilessly. "Don't use them as an excuse to be a coward."

"And I suppose you had no family to leave behind?" Jory retorted.

"My mother is a drunk and my sister is a prince's pregnant concubine," Brytta replied grimly. "I made choices and did deeds for them, knight, which would curdle your blood to know. I would change nothing about how I lived. But by the Stone-forsaken tits of my mother's mothers, I will die with my head held high, my feet on the Stone, and the knowledge that I have proved a Duster can have more guts and courage than any warrior."

"Uh yeah, what she said," Daveth echoed as the fluttering of wings signalled Morrigan's return.

"I shall undergo this ritual of yours," she announced once in human form.

"Why?" Duncan asked, trying to distract himself from the feelings stirred by Brytta's little speech. _Maker, please let her live. Let my heart be broken to a thousand pieces seeing her each day with Alistair, but let her live!_

"My mother doesn't want me to," the witch said airily. "So… let us get this over with then."

Duncan bowed his head and commanded Alistair to take the recruits to the old temple as he fetched the ingredients for the Joining. It was time.

…

"I swear by all powers old and dark I will _murder_ you for the agony you put me through!"

_Yup, Morrigan survived,_ Brytta thought ruefully as she ascended from a nightmare of blood and fire and dragon's roaring. She was unsurprised by either the witch taking the Joining or surviving it. Prick somebody's pride, dare them to do something subtly, point out it'd piss off an authority figure… Yes, her little plan had worked nicely.

It'd worked on Brytta after all, even if the main goal was to be a hero. Except it had been the entire caste system of Orzammar that had driven her to it.

She knew by the scent of steel, clean sweat and rosemary soap that Duncan was hovering over her; a wet cloth wiped the traces of blood and vomit from her lips. By the Stone-cursed balls of her father's fathers, that felt good; she opened up her mouth and bit into the cloth, sucking on the clean water to wash out the taste of blood and bile.

"You're alive. Thank the Maker," Duncan said, his tone fervent with relief.

"Fuck you, Duncan," Daveth called weakly from the other side of the old temple. "That hurt like blazes."

The Ancestors had blessed her; the two useful ones had survived. Jory had died from a knife to the gut, his cowardice responsible for driving Duncan to killing him. Brytta struggled to sit up, Duncan supporting her back, as she opened her eyes to meet his dark gaze.

Alistair's brownish-blond head popped over Duncan's shoulder, his face split by a big grin. "Best Joining to date," he said cheerfully. "Glad to see you survived."

"What, so you can get revenge for me daring you to drink an entire flagon of dwarven ale in Redcliffe?" Brytta asked.

"No, I forgave you for that. It was the brawl that followed which I need to get you back for."

"Brawl?" Duncan's deep voice rumbled dangerously.

"Yeah. Alistair tried to wrestle a trout. The fish won." Brytta grinned up at the Warden-Commander until his stern expression cracked slightly with a twitch of the lips into something which might be a smile.

"I see… Well, you have an hour to prepare yourselves for the battle. I advise you eat lightly but well, relieve yourselves, and check your equipment."

"Where will we be?" Alistair asked as Duncan helped Brytta up. She swayed a little and the older man steadied her with his hand on her shoulder. Stone's Embrace, but those strong fingers felt good through the cloth of her shirt! Brytta tilted her head subtly and let some of the loose auburn curls brush against Duncan's hand in a noble-hunter's trick Rica had taught her; a quick indrawn hiss of breath told her that he was affected by it.

"You four will be assigned to the Tower of Ishal to light the beacon. You know what to look for… Alistair, I should also tell you that Cailan has recognised you as heir-designate."

_"What?"_ The ex-templar practically yelped the question. "I can't be! I'm a Grey Warden."

"You can be and you might have to be," Duncan continued implacably. "Teyrn Loghain, myself and Arl Howe were witness to this statement. That is why you are being assigned to the Tower of Ishal; it's held by Loghain's men and therefore probably the safest place to be."

"I should be-"

"Enough!" Duncan's voice cut through the protest like a crack of the whip. "Are there any questions? If not, good. We all have preparations to make."

"I'll meet you three by the fire," Brytta said to Daveth, Alistair and Morrigan before turning to Duncan. "Can we talk privately for a moment?"

"…Is it important?" Duncan obviously wanted to be elsewhere but Brytta was having none of that. She wasn't going to go into a battle without having a little chat with her Warden-Commander.

"_I_ think so. Don't worry, it won't take more than five or so minutes."

"…Very well." Duncan waited until the other three were gone before looking down at Brytta with that stern, guarded gaze he put on when he was trying to hide his feelings. "What do you want, Brytta?"

"For you to sit down, for starters, so you can be smart for a change. I've come to find that when humans, especially male ones, stand up they're exceptionally stupid," Brytta told him as she crossed her arms across her chest. Since she'd begun to eat better food more regularly, she'd developed curves to give Rica a run for her money. Which was good. Duncan was sinewy and hard and would need extra padding in bed.

Him dying in this battle was unacceptable. If he did, she'd go to the Fade and drag him out kicking and screaming.

_"Brytta…"_ That one word, her name, was spoken with such longing she shivered to hear it. "_Please_. Go to Alistair. He can give you more than I-"

"And _this_ is why I told you to sit down. Because you're too damned stupid standing up," Brytta said, grabbing that braided cable of silver-threaded black hair and yanking the surprised Duncan's head down for a thorough kiss.

He fell to his knees with a clatter of silverite plate, mouth working urgently against hers as he wrapped a strong arm around her waist to drag her closer. She drank in the kiss like a thirsty Duster with clean water, tongue thrusting past his lips to catch the taste of human beer and badly cooked stew and something she knew was unique to Duncan alone.

The human groaned and matched her aggression, leaving no doubt that he was as experienced in this as he was in fighting. Strong as any dwarven guardsman she'd ever fought, Duncan held her so tightly that she'd probably have bruises across her breasts from his cuirass later. She didn't care. She was going to make this stupid male see some sense right fucking now.

Finally Duncan tore his mouth away from hers, dark eyes hot with fury and desire and longing. He panted heavily, like he'd been fighting a long battle, those full lips parted slightly and swollen as hers felt. "Were you… not… a dwarf… I'd swear… you were a… desire demon," he rasped. _"Brytta…"_

"If you hadn't been such a cloudheaded idiot or I'd thought to do that sooner, we'd have more time together," she replied, knowing her lips would be bruised and painful later. "So you fucking listen to me, Duncan of the Grey Wardens: you aren't to die in this fucking battle, you hear? Because you and I are going to have a long discussion involving a bed very soon."

"_Brytta…_ There is nothing more that I want… Dear Maker, even if we survive this battle, there will be the archdemon to confront and it might fall to me… or to you… to slay it."

Yup, she was going to have to have him lying down with her on his broad chest to discuss this because even on his knees he was a cloudheaded moron. "What's your fuckin' point, Duncan? In Dust Town you grab your joy when an' where you can 'cause the only things you can count on lasting are the dust an' the misery. You were there; you know what I went through. So by the Stone-forsaken arseholes of my Ancestors, don't you fuckin' dare assume that I'm gonna curl up an' die like a motherless nug in a deepstalker den if you fall, okay?"

As it did when she was pissed off, her hard-won noble elocution was lost beneath the coarse accents of Dust Town. Rica would be so exasperated with her… and then probably smack Duncan upside the head with her surface-silk Orlesian fan because he was being a moron. Grey Warden or not, nobody acted stupid around the Brosca sisters and got away unscathed.

"Ah, Brytta…" Her name was spoken in a sigh. "It isn't your strength that I doubt, _maHábba_, but my own. I must remain apart so I can sacrifice my life without second thought… because otherwise I would gladly let somebody else do it and damn the consequences. And I have so few years left that it is wrong to ask a younger man to make that sacrifice. I'm sorry."

"I… understand." Hardened Duster that she was, tears began to leak from her eyes anyways. By the Stone-cursed tits of her mother's mothers, she could understand… and accept… this reason. Because she knew exactly where he was coming from.

"Thank you… _'ána 'uHíbbuka_… Please, go. You must ready yourself for your part in the battle." Duncan rose to his feet and left the old temple, his shoulders slumped. Brytta remained behind and wept for much longer than she should.

…

"Is something wrong, Duncan? You look sad."

"It is nothing to worry yourself about, your Majesty. I… lost a recruit in the Joining."

"Not Brytta I hope?"

"No, Jory."

"Ah. Maker rest his soul."

Duncan adjusted the straps of his armour and made sure his weapons were secured tightly. His steel dar'misu and the ancient dagger he'd stolen from the First Enchanter who'd conspired with the Architect were sheathed in his belt; the remaining dagger given to him by Genevieve, a weapon which had belonged to his victim Guy, and the simple wire-bound silverite longsword he'd been given on his commission by the First Warden himself were sheathed on his back. He licked his lips, still tasting Brytta on them, and prepared to face his death.

As he'd walked away from a weeping Brytta he prayed to the Maker for the archdemon to arrive now so he could die and find oblivion in the Void. _She_ would live and find happiness with Alistair, he was certain of it, and they could serve the Grey well until their Callings. It would all work out for the best.

"The Blight ends here," Cailan declared.

"Only if the archdemon shows up," Duncan corrected, too old and sad to be diplomatic.

"It will. The might of Ferelden is here. It must come here to destroy us."

All Duncan could do was pray that for once Cailan was right. Horns announced the arrival of the horde even as the archdemon's voice roared through his mind. Duncan tasted the metallic tang of battle-readiness and adrenaline in his mouth, taking away that of Brytta. It was somehow appropriate, he reflected as he drew his sword and dagger in readiness, that it should be so.

…

"I'm pretty certain this wasn't meant to happen," Daveth whispered as he observed the carnage on the bottom floor of the Tower of Ishal. On realising the darkspawn had trapped the entrance with a grease trap, she'd darted ahead and used her knowledge of mechanics, gleaned from years of picking locks for Beraht, to disable it just before an emissary had hit her with a fireball. She'd jumped back but knew she'd have a scattering of tiny burn scars all over her exposed skin. Not that it mattered anymore what she looked like.

She'd told Alistair what Duncan had said as the four Junior Wardens had shared a light meal of dried-fish-and-baked-grain rolls and water just prior to taking their places on the bridge. The templar had sighed, shaken his head and said, "We'll talk some sense into him later, Brytta. Let's just get this beacon lit and the battle won."

Brytta didn't have the heart to tell him that Duncan wouldn't relent on this… and she couldn't make him. Not that and be a Grey Warden. Sacrifices had to be made and it seemed her heart was one of them.

Sometimes the stories Rica told were heartbreaking ones. Like how Gherlen the Blood-Risen had left a wife and son he adored to go to the surface for them all, only to return and find his woman a noble's whore with a son in her belly. Everyone in Dust Town knew who she'd been married to, but Gherlen had swallowed his love and embraced the noble as an ally when he became Paragon though his heart had shattered. When he was buried, his heart had been removed from his chest because the Stone had turned it to blood-red diamond shards.

In Dust Town, they knew that red diamonds were the shards of Gherlen's broken heart and that one day a Duster would find all the pieces. On that day, the Stone would relent from its curse upon the casteless and that Duster would become a Paragon who made all Dusters their House and the brand a mark of pride.

Rica believed that story. Brytta never had. But she knew the feeling of her heart being broken into a million razor-sharp shards and knew that no matter how far she rose, she could never truly be whole again.

But she had her duty to attend to and so she unleashed her grief and fury upon the darkspawn until the walls were splattered with their oily black blood. She used Foral Aeducan's mace instead of paired daggers, the grey iron head pulverising the flesh of any creature unlucky enough to cross her path, and screamed like a banshee. Even Morrigan was perturbed by her behaviour.

They battled their way to the top of the Tower where an ogre awaited. As fearsome as the creature was, it fell before the might of four very fucked-off Wardens and Morrigan used the last of her magic to light the beacon. As it blazed, Brytta closed her eyes and prayed to the Stone it would be soon over.

…It was, though not in the way she intend. A fresh horde of darkspawn broke through and attacked them; a genlock's crossbow bolt, irony of ironies, knocked Brytta to the ground as four other bolts pierced her body. As blackness took her, she thought she saw a dragon's shadow…

…

The beacon had been lit and Loghain's men joined in battle before Duncan realised something was terribly wrong.

"WHERE THE FUCK IS HOWE?"Cailan screamed, his face splattered with blood as he swung his father's greatsword in wide arcs which left severed limbs and heads in its wake.

Duncan had no answer for him as the archdemon spoke moments before an ogre brushed him aside, slamming him into the ground as it made its way towards the young King. "Cailan! Watch out!"

But the King proved to require no warning; with a savage roar worthy of a dwarven berserker, he ran headlong towards the evil creature and swung his father's blade in one powerful blow. Miracle of miracles it severed the taloned hand which had reached for him, allowing Cailan to reverse his grip on the weapon and drive it into the shrieking ogre's belly with a feral scream. He revelled in the violence, plunging the greatsword repeatedly into the ogre's stomach until it lay still and cold… and then beyond.

_Wonderful. Now he'll call himself Ogresbane or something…_ Duncan thought distantly as he forced himself to his feet. Around him the battle raged… and despite the complete absence of Howe's bear device, the Fereldans seemed to be winning.

A shadow flitted overheard and Duncan blanched when he realised it was a dragon… heading for the Tower of Ishal. But before he could rise fully to his feet, something collected him in the back of the head and his world exploded into white light and pain, then darkness.

…

"_Kosma yara!"_

_'I swear blood'_, Loghain automatically translated as Duncan awoke, trying to stand as two burly soldiers fought to hold him down for the mage Wynne to heal. The Grey Warden acted like a man possessed until Loghain, wounded himself but not severely, staggered over to his pallet and bore down on his shoulders with silverite-gauntleted hands until the dark-skinned man moaned in pain but subsided.

"You cannot die," the Teyrn of Gwaren commanded grimly. "Most of the army is dead. All of the Grey Wardens but yourself are dead. Cailan and I are tainted. We slaughtered every darkspawn in Ostagar… but Howe left us here to die. We are desperate and we need you, Duncan."

"We only live because Fergus Cousland and his men arrived," Wynne added as she waved her hands over the suddenly ashen Duncan. His terrible wounds and broken bones healed almost instantly.

"The… Tower…? They lit the beacon!" Duncan's voice was ragged, his gaze hollow.

"Yes… But darkspawn overwhelmed the men in there…" Loghain took a deep breath and delivered the tragic news to yet another person who lost their beloved. "I'm sorry, Duncan, but we found no traces of your Junior Wardens. I can only assume they are part of the collection of body parts we are burning now."

Only once had Loghain heard a man scream like Duncan did after that piece of news… And that had been when Maric learned of Rowan's death from illness. When it was done, the part-Rivaini opened his eyes again, his gaze that of a dead man walking.

"I will put you both through the Joining… and then we will kill that fucking bastard… and the archdemon too."

Loghain swallowed thickly and said, "Yes, we will." What else could he do?


	6. Water

Note: Thanks for the reviews! As a thank you, I will be including a reference to a reviewer's name in each chapter; keep reading to find out where! I've told the plot nugs that if they don't shut up, they'll be spit-roasted and served with plum sauce. They disapproved -19 but Oghren approved +150. Leliana won't speak to me until I apologise to Schmooples. I had been intending to keep Duncan and Brytta separated for a full chapter… But I couldn't. It was too cruel. I think this is the plot-nugs' revenge… I am also doing a bit of 'The Game of Princes' thing in regards to dividing the Landsmeet/Treaty missions, except that the lead-up-to-Landsmeet party is going to be an entire army led by (ex-)King Cailan and (ex-)Teyrn Loghain. Howe's gonna get it… :D

…

**Part 6: Water**

Duncan's lungs burned for air but he still kept his head submerged in the barrel, the cold water pebbling his skin and absorbing the tears as his body shook. Maker's breath, he wanted to die. Yet duty forbade him. That didn't stop him burying his face into cold, clean water at every opportunity until black spots filled his vision.

This time it was Cailan whose thick hand yanked his head up, using the dishevelled fall of hair which had once been his braid. The former King had taken to his duties as a Grey Warden with a zeal that confirmed Duncan's suspicions he'd never been happy as a ruler. He distantly wondered, as the flaxen-haired berserker threw him a rough length of sackcloth to use as a towel, how the succession crisis would be solved. The Warden-Commander found that he didn't care.

"Drowning yourself won't bring her back," he said with surprising kindness to his grizzled superior. Over the past two weeks, Cailan had revealed hitherto-unsuspected depths and intelligence. Maybe now he didn't have to live up to the legend of Maric the Saviour, he could be the simple warrior he was most comfortable as.

Loghain had taken command of the paltry column of ragged, battered, bloody survivors which had once been the mighty army of Ferelden. They'd come across refugees fleeing north to Lothering, both Chasind and Fereldan, and the ex-Teyrn of Gwaren had simply added the able-bodied ones to the warriors and allowed their dependents to become camp followers. Duncan was distantly grateful because the only thing his mind was focused upon – when he wasn't imparting Warden lore to Loghain and Cailan – was finding the archdemon and killing it. He wanted the oblivion of the Void now. He would welcome it.

Fergus Cousland was the highest-ranking nobleman present but deferred to Loghain because of the general's greater experience; the heir to Highever was also the direct commander of the Chasind as he'd managed to persuade them to join with the Fereldans at Ostagar. When he'd discovered Howe's treachery, the dark-haired man's face had paled and asked, "I wonder if my father's recent brainstorm had anything to do with this?"

In his more lucid moments, Duncan would have bet dust to diamonds that the stroke which left Bryce Cousland half-paralysed was connected to Howe's withdrawal on the battlefield. But what made Rendon think he could get away with this?

He knew he should be joining the commanders in their ragged lean-to every night… but he couldn't find the energy or enthusiasm. Instead he fought when he sensed darkspawn, told Cailan and Loghain what they needed to know, and submerged his head in water every chance he got to try and block out the image of Brytta and the other Junior Wardens dismembered and scattered anonymously amongst a pile of limbs and torsos.

_So Cailan noticed my ill-advised infatuation too,_ Duncan thought bitterly as he scrubbed his face with the sackcloth, ignoring the harshness of the rag. The battle at Ostagar had weaned Maric's eldest from his dreams of glory; now he was focused and driven, a burning rage lighting his pale grey-blue eyes in combat. Even the surviving Ash Warriors regarded his skills as a berserker with respect.

"We will reach Lothering tomorrow, Loghain tells me," Cailan continued once he had Duncan's attention. "Maker willing, we'll be able to get some news there."

"But not supplies," Duncan warned. The village was likely to be overcrowded with refugees.

"Not likely." Cailan knuckled his eyes. "Those treaties you sent the recruits to fetch… Do you have them? Loghain thinks we will need them… or have to go ask the Orlesians for help."

"…I don't know." Duncan tried to remember if he'd taken them from Brytta or not; he went to his meagre backpack of belongings and rummaged through them, then tried the stained canvas rucksack Brytta had used. Carved and half-carved pieces of greenstone, fluorspar, quartz, topaz, malachite and garnet fell through his fingers… but no parchment. He groaned, fist clenching around the tiny griffin pendant she'd carved from malachite, and hung his head as tears trickled down his unshaven cheeks again.

"…I'm going to take that as a no. _Fuck._" Cailan growled with frustration, punching his open left hand with his fisted right one to express his emotions. "You can figure this out, Cailan… _Shit._ I wish Anora were here. She could help us sort out this mess."

The former King came up to Duncan and squeezed his shoulder sympathetically. "I hate to be a prick, Duncan, but we need you in the command structure. You are the most senior Warden here, you have the contacts we need, and quite frankly I'm getting sick of Loghain's running commentary on how my stupidity put us all in this situation when _he _should have at least allowed _some_ Orlesians in."

"If _you_ had waited for Redcliffe forces, we might have been in a better position." Duncan's bitter words slipped out before he could stop them; he actually regretted them when Cailan ducked his head ashamedly.

"Yes, I should have. But I didn't and Maker willing we will be able to be reinforced by my uncles…" Cailan growled again. "How did Rendon think he could profit by such treachery?"

"If I could answer that question, I would also be able to understand how the darkspawn got into the Tower of Ishal," Duncan answered bitterly. He removed his hand from Brytta's rucksack, fingers still curled around the griffin pendant.

Cailan was right. He had to stop sulking and focus on his duty. He had experience none of the other men did. It was his task to prepare them for the next stage of the Blight… The thought of the archdemon triggered a flash of memory. "Did anybody else see a dragon over Ostagar?"

"There were a couple rumours, but we put them down to fear and confusion in the battle…" Cailan muttered a soft curse under his breath. "Was it the archdemon?"

"I… don't think so. I would have known. But why would a dragon be there if it isn't the archdemon?"

"Maybe it wanted some darkspawn delight for dinner?" Cailan grinned at Duncan's aggrieved sigh, which turned into a choked sob as he remembered Alistair had shared a similar sense of humour.

"Your brother would have made a joke like that…" The Warden-Commander said, swallowing thickly.

"What was he like?" Cailan asked, his voice suddenly small and sad. "I… think I would have liked to know him."

"He loved cheese. Made the worst jokes ever. Got into a wrestling match with a trout and lost. Two beers and he slept like a baby." Duncan sighed, a tear trickling down his cheek. "He and Brytta… Maker's breath. She stuck a dead bird in his bedroll once and he thanked her for dinner! The closest they ever got to an argument was when she ate the last piece of cheese in our packs two days from Lothering…" His fingers clenched tighter around the pendant in his hand until the unyielding stone pressed into his flesh in a manner which promised bruises.

"We will avenge them, Duncan. I promise," Cailan said gently.

"Do you know Grey Wardens rarely have children? Alistair's mother Fiona was one of the few to do so: and then she gave him up because she didn't want him to know he was half-elven and Maric couldn't take care of him because he'd be a rival to you. But I watched over him through the years and when I realised he was miserable at the Chantry I recruited him. He was the closest thing I'll ever have to a son…"

"Sweet Andraste…" Cailan breathed. He wrapped a powerful arm around Duncan and gave him a brief one-sided hug. "We won't let their sacrifice be in vain, Duncan. We can't."

"I know…" Duncan said brokenly. "I know."

…

"…You sent me out into the world, Mother. Do not complain when I make my own decisions!"

"Bah! Do you realise what you have done, Morrigan? You may never have children! And then where will you be?"

"With you as a mother, I have oft pondered the wisdom of procreating. Perhaps this is for the best."

"You will be dead in thirty years, girl, dead under a rock in the Deep Roads!"

"If 'tis thirty years of absence from _you,_ I will consider it a fine end!"

"I should have left you dead on that tower!"

"And miss the chance to rant at me? 'Tis most unlikely!"

"You know, it's days like this I'm glad my mother's _just_ a drunk," Brytta observed dryly to Alistair as they washed themselves in the clean pool of water just outside Flemeth's hut.

"Funny. I was just thinking about the benefits of being an orphan," Alistair responded with some of his customary humour, his back turned modestly from the dwarven girl. He'd spent four days crying his heart out after Ostagar, four days Brytta had spent unconscious and Daveth raving incoherently from an infected chest wound. Thank the Ancestors (or well, Flemeth) that he'd been healed and was now sitting on a nearby boulder, mending his socks – pale and a bit shaky, but alive.

"We're gonna need to go to Lothering and find out what's going on," the human thief said. "Maker willin', somebody in charge survived."

"I'm sure Duncan's going to be there waiting for us, ready to bitch us out for missing on the great victory," Brytta said with more confidence than she felt. Her Warden-Commander didn't have the right to die yet. She mightn't ever be able to be with him, but by the Stone-rotted rumps of her Ancestors, he wasn't allowed to die. She couldn't kill the archdemon alone.

"Maker, let it be so," Alistair said fervently. "He's going to need those treaties. _We_ are going to need those treaties."

"Or ask the Orlesians for aid," Daveth said sourly. "Which'd go down 'bout as well with the Landsmeet as Morrigan's becomin' a Warden did with Flemeth."

"The Orlesian Wardens are politically neutral," Alistair assured him. "As Riordan, Senior Warden of Jader put it: 'when you're killing darkspawn, politics is the last thing on your mind'."

"Somebody forgot to tell Sophia Dryden that," Daveth countered.

"Sophia Dryden was loopy and King Arland a nasty piece of work," Alistair retorted.

"Can we skip the historical debate and get to Lothering?" Brytta asked of them both. "Duncan's going to need them treaties."

Even now she couldn't fathom what had possessed her to tuck the paperwork into a small shoulder-bag. Still with the Pyrrhic victory at Ostagar, they would need all of the peoples to counter the Blight, so it had been a good idea.

"We'll get goin' once Morrigan stops yellin' at her mother," Daveth assured her.

"Good." Brytta wrung out her wet hair and picked up the ragged shirt she used as a towel, drying herself. This might be the last bath she saw for a while and since she'd gotten used to washing regularly, it wasn't something she wanted to skip too much.

She didn't want to admit that she was worried sick about Duncan. The thought of him being dead… By the Stone-forsaken tits of her mother's mothers, it was enough to twist her guts and make her want to puke. He couldn't die. She'd have to drag him back from the Fade and dwarves weren't supposed to even go there.

She pulled on her coarse linen shirt and breeches before donning her Grey Warden leathers. She was proud of this uniform; it represented everything good in her life. She wouldn't – _couldn't_ – let Duncan and the other Wardens down.

Dwarves couldn't dream while sleeping but they could imagine and feel just like humans did. She might have to be nothing more than Duncan's subordinate, but by the Ancestors, she had the fucking right to daydream. And daydream she did, of Duncan sitting against the broad trunk of a tree, his bearded chin resting on top of her head as she straddled him; teaching her how to swim in those deep pools, large dark scarred hands wrapped around her waist as he kept her afloat; and the best one, him curled up around her in a wide bed in Cloudfields on a cold winter's day.

She didn't notice a tear trickle down her cheek. If… If Duncan was dead and she somehow outlived the archdemon, she was going to join the Legion of the Dead in the Deep Roads. The sky, the sun, the moon, the stars, the clouds… Duncan had introduced her to these things. She couldn't bear to be under them without him.

"It's gonna be okay, Brytta. Duncan will be alive an' me an' Alistair will sit on him so you can talk some sense inta him, okay?" Daveth offered, having come over to pat her shoulder awkwardly.

Her feelings for Duncan had been revealed to Daveth and Morrigan by Alistair; the thief had been sympathetic, the witch mystified. Not by her desire for Duncan – even Morrigan had found him quite attractive – but by the fact she loved him. Love, according to Morrigan, was a weak and fragile thing which had no meaning. Brytta hadn't bothered arguing with her; many a Duster would agree.

But Brytta had always dreamed of loving somebody. And now that she did… she realised it sucked when she couldn't have them.

…Maybe Morrigan was right. But Brytta wouldn't agree with her.

"Go then! I bred one, I can always breed another!" Flemeth declared from the hut.

"Good luck finding a man with the Chasind fleeing… Or have you grown so depraved you seek to bewitch a Hurlock then?"

"_There's_ an image we could've all done without," Alistair observed sarcastically.

Morrigan stormed out of her mother's hut, almost crackling with magical power. "Are you ready to go? I think it best not to linger here."

Daveth pulled on his half-mended socks as Alistair quickly packed up their meagre belongings; Brytta wiped her face and picked up her shoulder-bag. "Let's go."

"Indeed. I shall be glad to leave this place." Morrigan's words were harsh, but her voice sad and lost as she turned her back on her home and led them to the path which would take them from the swamp.

…

Upon reaching Lothering, Loghain was nigh-incandescent with rage. The village was in dire straits, having been stripped of anything remotely edible and weapon-like by Arl Howe on his march north, and abuzz with rumours that the Grey Wardens had led Cailan and Loghain to their deaths so that Orlais could take over the country. Seeing the very physical presence of the Teyrn of Gwaren, clad in his iconic armour with a Grey Warden surcoat, was a genuine shock to the people… but they were very grateful to see him.

Within three days Lothering had transformed from a village plagued by bandits and desperate refugees to a military camp. Loghain had told everyone the village couldn't be held and encouraged them to either join the army or head north to safer climes. Cailan, oddly enough, went unnoticed – perhaps the heavy grey iron chainmail he'd replaced his ornate gilded silverite plate with had something to do with it. He'd kept his father's greatsword though, sheathed in a cracked leather back-scabbard.

Duncan was known in Lothering but publicly deferred to Loghain. "I am a skilled fighter but he is a better general… and to defeat the Blight, that is what we need," he told a templar. On the other hand, when it came to purely Grey Warden matters, Loghain deferred to him.

The Warden-Commander had finally shared the full story of Maric's trip to the Deep Roads with the ex-Teyrn, who blanched at how close to harm his best friend had come… and the idea of intelligent darkspawn on the loose. "This… Architect… he will return," Loghain declared grimly.

"No doubt. I fear what would happen if he interfered in this Blight." Duncan sighed, his fingers worrying at the leather cord keeping his Warden's Oath and Brytta's griffin pendant around his neck.

"We shall be ready for him," Loghain assured the part-Rivaini man. "But let us hang Howe and kill the archdemon first."

"Yes…" Duncan poured himself a cup of water and drank it down in one gulp. With the mood he was in, drinking anything stronger would be a bad idea, to say the least. He didn't have the luxury of alcoholism. "…I think we should send word to Riordan at Jader."

"I-" Loghain begun, only to be cut off by a chop of Duncan's hand.

"Riordan was born in Ferelden, in Highever, and we took our Joining together," the dark-skinned rogue announced flatly. "He is your brother in the Grey… and you will treat him accordingly."

Loghain's steely eyes met Duncan's in a long stare; they broke the look together, two strong men meeting their match in each other. Duncan couldn't say he _liked_ Loghain… or ever would… but the man would make a fine Warden-Commander when Duncan was gone.

Cailan stuck his head inside the small one-roomed shed Loghain had commandeered as his command post, grinning broadly. Duncan and Loghain looked up, surprised to see such an expression on the young man's face after all the tragedy. "You two need to come out here and see this," the ex-King said cheerfully. "You just might re-evaluate your belief in divine providence."

The first thing Duncan heard as he emerged into the amber light of a clear autumn afternoon was a duo of mabari barking conversationally at each other. Beneath that was the sound of a woman's haughty voice complaining about Sister Leliana's preaching (Duncan had made sure to keep the Orlesian away from Loghain whenever possible despite her invaluable organisational skills) and a familiar male voice asking where the cheese was.

Morrigan, clad in the skimpy rags she called clothing, had her hands on her hips and was insulting the Orlesian redhead that Duncan _knew_ was a bard. Sten, the murderous qunari whom Loghain had released when they'd found him in a cage on the condition he fight with the Grey Wardens (as there had never been a Kossith Warden, Duncan wasn't sure the bronze-skinned giant could become one), was staring at the gossiping mabaris. Daveth and Alistair were arguing over the division of a wheel of cheese ("No, Alistair, I ain't tradin' six taters for a half-wheel of cheese. That's a bullshit deal!") The Warden-Commander gawped, his gaze swinging wildly from person to person as he recognised three people that he thought dead… But he couldn't see Brytta.

_Oh sweet Maker and all the djinn of the Fade, don't let her be dead!_ He wasn't sure he could stand the pain of having hope raised, only to be brutally crushed again…

"Down here, Warden-Commander," a familiar, beautiful mezzo-soprano said practically at his waist and Duncan looked down to see Brytta peering up at him. The Duster's round face was now speckled with dozens of tiny burn scars and something had broken her snub nose… But she was alive, she was here, and she held the treaties in her hand.

Cailan was right. This was enough to make him believe the Maker could be kind sometimes.

Uncaring of who was watching and before he could think coherently, Duncan fell to his knees with a clatter of silverite plate and pulled the shocked girl into a tight embrace, pressing desperate kisses over her hair and face even as he babbled words of love to Brytta and prayers of gratitude to the djinn and the Maker in a mingled torrent of Common, Rivaini and Orlesian.

"I am sorry, _maHábba_, my love; I was a fool not to know what was in my reach before it was lost to me," he whispered desperately as she stared at him with those lovely malachite-green eyes. "Please forgive me; I am a fool, I am unworthy of you, but please for the sake of the Maker and the djinn _do not ever leave me alone again._"

Brytta wrapped her small, strong arms around him and whispered back, "Like it or not, Duster, you're stuck with me. Try not to regret it when I've farted the blanket off in winter after too much cabbage, yeah?"

He could hear the unspoken words behind the crude jocularity and nodded, kissing the crown of her head gently. "I won't, I swear it."

"Welp, looks like we won't need to sit on him after all," Daveth observed to a grinning Alistair as Morrigan simply shook her head. One of the mabari, a female who was smaller than average with a mottled red hide, trotted over to sniff Duncan curiously and whine inquisitively at Brytta. A little girl named Isa giggled at the sight, much to her mother Lea's consternation.

"Yes, that's Duncan," she said fondly to the mabari, Duncan now remembered as one of the poisoned dogs at Ostagar which had been healed by the recruits bringing handfuls of Wilds Flowers back. It appeared this little female had imprinted on Brytta.

"Have you named her yet?" he asked the dwarf softly as the dog barked approvingly.

"Yeah…" The Duster girl looked a bit sheepish. "I called her 'Atrast Hjarta'… 'Find your Heart' in Common."

"That is a beautiful name…" Duncan rubbed Hjarta's ears; the dog's stubby little tail looked ready to wag itself off in ecstasy.

"I am sorry to interrupt, but we need to discuss what to do with those treaties," Loghain said, his harsh voice softened just a fraction. "And I would dearly love to know how you all survived."

"The second is answered easily enough," Morrigan told the former Teyrn. "My mother saved us, though I suspect she is ruing it now I am a Grey Warden."

"Mother…?"

"Flemeth." It was Alistair who answered the question. The ex-templar crossed his arms and studied Loghain. "So… you and Cailan Grey Wardens? The Landsmeet is going to _love_ that."

"They're going to love Howe's head on a pike more," Fergus Cousland vowed grimly as he pushed his way through the crowd. The nobleman was tall and doughty with a warrior's broad shoulders, his veridium chainmail covered by a Chasind-style fur mantle. Duncan suspected he was going native… Even half-crippled, Bryce Cousland was _not_ going to be happy.

"Well, technically the treaties are a Grey Warden concern," Duncan said, releasing Brytta and rising to his feet. It was strange how having the Duster by his side cleared his head. "But if all of us go gadding about together, the archdemon could rise and attack wherever it didn't sense us… and we would be unable to get there in time to stop it."

"Indeed…" Fergus released a sigh. "You know, with Cailan and Loghain Wardens, that makes me and my father the highest-ranking nobles in the kingdom."

"If you want the throne, it's yours," Cailan offered cheerfully. "I would only suggest keeping Anora as Chancellor."

"So… this Landsmeet like the Assembly, huh?" Brytta asked curiously.

"Yes. Amongst other things, they help choose the ruler of Ferelden," Fergus explained to the Duster girl.

"Okay. Well… Loghain and Cailan are… err, _were_… nobles. Makes sense to send them with you so you can become King. They know who to talk to, that sort of thing."

"I can give you access codes to the Denerim cache," Duncan promptly replied, understanding where Brytta was going with this.

"That would be welcome. I am going to assume that the rest of you are going to be chasing down those treaties?" Loghain, of course, was no fool.

"Huh. A smart standing male human in full armour. What's next, Gherlon's Heart's just going to fall out of the sky and into my hands?" Brytta asked, a bit bemused.

_Gherlon's Heart? Ah yes, he was the casteless who rose to become Paragon… I must ask her about the story sometime,_ Duncan thought as his hand slipped down to caress Brytta's shoulder. She tilted her head a little to let her auburn curls brush his fingers in a trick he damned well knew was a noble-hunter's one. He also damned well knew which treaty she would ask to collect first.

He looked forward to seeing what sorts of arguments she would use to try and convince him. For the first time in a long time, Duncan smiled – without shadows or grief or concern – and resolved to make the best of what little time he had remaining.


	7. Red

Note: Thanks for the reviews… Wow, Diamond's my most popular story yet! Brytta's an example of somebody with a high Coercion skill and about 30+ Cunning while Daveth's specialty is Ranger and I imagine him as having a high Trapmaking skill. 'Hjarta' is Icelandic for 'heart'. _Almas_ is 'diamond' in Arabic. And this is going to be one of those chapters which explains why the rating is M… ;)

…

**Part 7: Red**

The remnants of Ferelden's army, bolstered by Chasind and refugees, marched to Redcliffe as the darkspawn horde pushed north towards the fertile Bannorn. With autumn nearly over and winter coming, the next few months would be even harder because of the Blight… and Rendon Howe was triggering civil war. What in the names of the Ancestors was going on in this Arl of Amaranthine's head?

"Huh. Arl Eamon's posted a bridge guard," Cailan said, shading his eyes with his hands against the early afternoon sun. "Sounds like the bad news has travelled north."

"Or there's trouble already here," Loghain said grimly, nostrils flaring. "I smell funeral pyres."

Brytta trotted ahead to meet the bridge guard as he walked towards the army; she thought she recalled his name as Tomas. "Thank the Maker! Somebody's heard what's wrong here!" he said, voice breaking with desperate gratitude.

"Sorry salroka; we're what's left of the army from Ostagar and the village of Lothering," Brytta said grimly as Loghain and Duncan came striding up behind her. "Darkspawn get here ahead of us?"

"Oh sweet Maker…" Tomas breathed. "No… Arl Eamon's sick and we hadn't heard anything from the castle and… _things_… came out of there and killed everybody they could. It's been going on for three days now and I think tonight will be the worst of it."

"By the broken shards of Gherlon's Heart," Brytta swore, shocked. "Is there anybody in charge?"

"Murdock, Ser Perth and Bann Teagan," Tomas replied, gulping. "Shall I take you to them?"

"Aye, lad," Loghain said gruffly, but kindly. Brytta had to admit that most of the nobility topside, aside from this Rendon guy, seemed fairly decent people. "And don't worry. We survived darkspawn. I'm certain we can survive demons or whatever these things are."

Tomas nodded and smiled shakily. "Yes, Teyrn."

Brytta saw no reason why she, Daveth, Alistair and Morrigan couldn't accompany Duncan, Fergus, Loghain and Cailan down to the Chantry where Bann Teagan was, so they did. Apparently Murdock and Ser Perth wanted the Bann to stay inside in case something went wrong and they were all eaten by corpses tonight. Fergus' second Ser Gilmore, Sten, Wynne and Leliana were left in charge of getting the army organised for the coming troubles.

Teagan was pleased to see them but shocked to discover Cailan and Loghain were alive and Grey Wardens. "Howe declared that you two had been led into a trap by the Grey Wardens, who were in league with Orlais, and that his retreat was to save what soldiers he could," he told them grimly.

"And Anora allowed this? Is she alright, has anything happened to her?" Cailan asked worriedly. Brytta gathered he and the Queen _liked_ each other but that was about it. Still, the guy was decent enough to be worried about his wife.

Teagan's face and voice were heartbreakingly gentle as he said, "Cailan, she stood right beside Rendon and declared him Teyrn of Gwaren and leader of Ferelden's army."

Cailan swallowed once and nodded, tears glittering in his eyes. Alistair gripped his shoulder once, sympathetically, and Teagan blinked as the elder brother nodded to the bastard gratefully. "We have more immediate things to be concerned with," the ex-King finally said. "Tell me of these things you face, Teagan."

Brytta folded her arms as Teagan described the walking corpses. "Undead, possessed by minor demons," Morrigan immediately said. After a rip-roaring argument between her and Duncan, the witch had finally agreed to don Grey Warden mage robes after the Warden-Commander had pointed out that templars tended to kill apostates first and ask questions about their associations later. But the Chasind woman had been fuming ever since and looking for an excuse to unleash her more destructive magicks.

"We have two mages, four hundred fighters, seven Grey Wardens, one qunari and four mabari," Loghain finally said. "We will return these creatures to the grave with fire and steel!"

"I hope fire works on them," Alistair muttered. "Undead are bad enough. _Flaming _undead would be infinitely worse."

Several people laughed, the tension easing a fraction. Teagan sighed in relief, rubbing his arched nose. "I am grateful for this. Truly. Murdock and Ser Perth are the ones to talk to about our defence, Loghain."

"Of course." Loghain looked around the Chantry. "I'll put our wounded in here so there's an extra line of defence should we fall. Cailan… I want you to remain with them. There must be at least one Grey Warden left in Ferelden."

"Of course," the former King said with a regretful sigh. "Keep Wynne in here too? She's a fine healer."

"Yes, and that cursed Orlesian Chantry sister…" Loghain sighed. "Cousland, you want inside or out? There's arguments for both."

"Out or the Chasind won't fight," Fergus said immediately; Teagan started when he realised the woad-painted barbarian in veridium chainmail and a bearskin cloak was the heir to Highever.

"Very well. Let's get cracking; we've three hours until dusk."

With three hundred and fifty fighters outside and a hundred within the Chantry, it didn't take long for every approach to the village square to be lined with sharpened stakes, caltrop and spring traps, and concealed archers. The Chasind had been really good for that and Daveth was happily chatting away to a big grim one with fingerbones plaited in his lime-stiffened hair.

Brytta went straight to Dwyn's house and picked the locked door, Duncan shaking his head in amusement. Within five minutes the surfacer dwarf was marching towards the village square with hired thugs in tow, a sovereign richer. Then she went to Kaitlyn's house and talked Bevin into coming out and lending them his grandpa's sword. Daveth needed a new blade… If it was a good one, she'd pay gold for it to the orphans.

"Against undead, blunt weapons and bows are best," Duncan advised as he followed her around, occasionally lending his intimidating demeanour to whatever was needed. All Owen needed was a promise to find his daughter… and since Brytta knew how much it sucked worrying for your family, she agreed. Some bad shit was going down in the castle…

"Yeah, sure." Duncan's silverite sword and dagger were both etched with fine runes against the darkspawn but the longsword had runes for undead and greater physical fortitude while the dagger was enchanted to unleash cold and make him a bit more resistant to magic.

"If I can get access to the cache in Denerim, I will give you the High Constable's mace," Duncan promised as they picked their way along the docks towards the village square.

"Why? The Aeducan mace is good enough for me," Brytta assured him with a sunny smile. And it was; he'd given it to her.

"…It's cold out here and I'm probably going to die. I hope you're as amused as Murdock is," Lloyd, the fat cowardly innkeeper, complained to a broadly grinning Daveth and Alistair. "And you scared me into giving you my inn too."

"Now that's bullshit," Alistair corrected. "We paid you two gold sovereigns for it."

"And then you gave it to Bella! And the militia are drinking for free!" the fat man whined. "I'm going to die out here!"

"Good! With luck the undead will be so busy feasting on your fat arse that they'll not kill us!" Murdock roared at him. "Now get into place."

Lloyd complied reluctantly as Sten of the Beresaad growled. "How does this aid us against the Blight?" he demanded of Loghain.

"We need every man we can get," the general growled in frustration.

"They are not Grey Wardens. It is not their place to fight the darkspawn."

"We oughta put that guy through the Joining," Daveth muttered to Duncan as he came up. "At worst we won't have to listen to his bitchin' about how much our society sucks."

"I've thought about it… But there's never been a Kossith Warden and I don't know how they'd react to the darkspawn taint," the Warden-Commander replied. "Do you feel like killing an ogre?"

"Not today, thanks. My calendar's been booked out by undead," the thief quipped. Duncan gave his aggrieved sigh as Brytta grinned openly. If she hadn't met Duncan, she and Daveth would have gotten on very fine indeed. He was like Leske without the potential for betrayal.

"And we'll have demons on the schedule tomorrow," Alistair agreed, grinning wryly. Then he looked down at Brytta and smacked his head like he'd remembered something. "Hey, you carve gemstones, right?"

"Yeah," the Duster replied, tilting her head curiously.

"I found this." The big ex-templar handed a small blood-red gem to the dwarf. "I think it's ruby. I located it in a little crack near the top of the cliffs."

Brytta smiled and tucked the stone in her beltpouch. The colour was a bit wrong for ruby but maybe surfacer rubies were different. "Thanks, Alistair."

"You're welcome." He looked up into the sky where the sun was low in the west. "Let's grab something to eat. It's going to be a long night."

"Intelligence from you standing up in full armour?" Brytta joked as they headed towards the line of troops queuing up for honey-smothered fruit and grain bars. "At this rate, I'm going to find Gherlon's Heart!"

…

Duncan's entire body was drenched with sweat as he danced amidst the invading corpses, his weapons leaving nothing but dismembered body parts in their wake. Years of combat had turned the blades into extensions of his limbs and the heightened stamina and endurance of a Grey Warden allowed him to fight beyond the limits of most men. But even amongst the Grey Wardens, few could match the Warden-Commander of Ferelden when it came to the art of combat.

But members of the Grey excelled in many capacities. Daveth had recently tamed a wolf and now the beast fought willingly alongside the mabari, though Atrast Hjarta wasn't shy about expressing her opinion (much like her very lovely but mouthy little dwarven mistress) concerning the matter. Morrigan, daughter of a legend, was one of the most devastating combat mages Duncan had ever seen; her mastery of explosive spells had destroyed dozens of corpses with a single well-placed hand. Alistair, the son of his heart, a stalwart bulwark against the incoming tide of undead. Loghain, champion and general, wielded each of the Grey Wardens like the weapons they were with a surgeon's precision. Even Cailan, the royal berserker who waited patiently with Bann Teagan, had demonstrated remarkable wisdom and insight now he was free of a burden he'd never wanted.

And Brytta. The most unexpected of them all. A Duster with compassion and honour; the little thief who'd managed to somehow steal his heart. She rushed headlong into the morass of corpses with Atrast Hjarta at her heels and somehow survived, the only sign of her trail a wake of broken and crippled undead left for others to dispatch.

_My little _almas_, my little Dust Town diamond,_ he thought tenderly, _how is it I have found you in my old age when I have done nothing to deserve you?_

"Mind off the female and on the combat," Loghain growled as they fought side-by-side. "I'm going to need you alive to keep those four lunatics out of trouble!"

"I'd rather my four lunatics than your single Cailan," Duncan retorted with a grin.

"Fuck you, Rivaini," was the grunted reply as the general cleaved a corpse in two.

"You mean to tell me that your dislike was in reality an unrequited desire? Loghain, I am flattered." A skeleton was decapitated by Duncan's sword.

"I liked you better when you didn't have a sense of humour," the Hero of the River Dane growled.

"_I_ liked you better when you did." And then the tide of battle separated them before Loghain could retort.

It was endless fighting, from the crest of the hill all the way down to the village square as every dead corpse ever drowned in that lake came to shore. People died; it was only to be expected. But when the sun crested the cliffs and dyed the stone a ruddy-gold, Duncan realised that most of the fighters were alive… and everyone in the Chantry too, as they came boiling out of the building led by Teagan and Cailan.

"Dawn arrives and we are victorious!" the Bann said jubilantly. He then bowed very deeply to the defenders, common and noble, Chasind and Fereldan, foreigner and Grey Warden. "I thank you, my friends. Redcliffe is ever in your debt."

Revered Mother Hannah led the prayers for the dead; not unexpectedly, Lloyd had died – more of a man than he'd ever lived. But Murdock, Ser Perth, Dwyn (and thugs) and even Tomas had survived… Duncan bowed his head and murmured prayers of gratitude to the Maker and the djinn for their forbearance and mercy on this day. Beside him, Brytta was murmuring the dwarven prayers for the dead.

Teagan came up to Loghain and the other Wardens. "I would go to the castle today… but we are all weary. A watch has been posted but today is a time of rest and thanksgiving. Tomorrow, we shall seek out my brother."

"What about Valena?" Owen bellowed. "The Grey Wardens promised they'd find her!"

"We will," Brytta told him. "But we're tired, Owen, and in the state we're in we'd be as like to accidentally kill her as save her. We'll bring her back to you, one way or another. I swear by the Ancestors and the Stone."

Owen knew how sacred such an oath was to a dwarf; he nodded, swallowing back tears. "Tomorrow," he agreed sorrowfully. Duncan's heart ached for the poor man.

"By the Stone-forsaken arseholes of my Ancestors, I am tired," Brytta murmured as they trudged up to Bella's inn. "But first I'm going to bathe and eat before I sleep. I'm filthy!"

"You bathe like a noblewoman," Alistair told her with a grin. "I've never seen someone so fond of clean water."

"'Twould be advisable for you to follow her example," Morrigan suggested coolly. "You have the constant stench of cheese and stupidity about you."

"You know, Morrigan, I'm beginning to think you find me attractive," Alistair responded with a smirk. "I mean, you keep on giving me such _charming_ compliments. And now you want to bathe me?"

"How come no one ever wants to bathe _me_?" Daveth asked plaintively as Morrigan spluttered, lost for words.

Atrast Hjarta barked her opinion on the matter. _Because you love wolves instead of perfectly good dogs._

"Fuck you, mutt."

The mabari gagged in disgust, making everyone but Daveth burst into laughter. The thief simply muttered a few choice words, whistled for his wolf, and marched back down to join the rest of the army in their encampment just outside Redcliffe.

One day of owning the tavern and Bella had already improved the menu significantly. Duncan sniffed the air appreciatively, the scent of freshly baked bread and spiced fish stew reminding his stomach he hadn't eaten all night… But Brytta was already heading for the bathing chamber and the Warden-Commander shrugged haplessly. The dwarven girl had very particular expectations of him… and regular bathing was one of them.

Alistair grinned as he and Cailan made a beeline for the cheese platter Bella had arranged just for them; Maker's breath, but Maric had been as mad about the stuff as his two sons. Duncan wondered what the King would make of them both being Grey Wardens… He sighed and knuckled his eyes as he stepped into the stone-floored bathing chamber and closed the canvas curtain behind him. So many friends dead and gone yet he lived…

Small hands began to divest him of his weapons; Duncan looked down to see Brytta removing each dagger with the same concentration she used for carving gems. She acted as his squire, something which both touched and aroused the Warden-Commander. _My little Dust Town diamond…_

Duncan kneeled so she could remove the spaulders, rerebraces and vambraces after she'd divested him of belts and baldric. Unbidden, his right hand, still gloved, twined itself in those messy auburn curls and drew her closer for a hungry kiss despite the gore on them both. Her lips were already parted as his tongue swept into her mouth, tasting and delving; he growled in approval as her tongue returned the favour.

Somehow she managed to keep her head enough to remove the main parts of his armour as they kissed; his fingers worked desperately at the buckles and laces of her reinforced leathers until they came undone. Finally the leather and metal were removed and there was nothing but quilted wool and linen in the way.

The Warden-Commander absently reminded himself to acquire the little dwarf a better shirt as he removed the rough, patched linen; perhaps there might be something available in Redcliffe? Dwarven women were child-sized but built like adults; finding clothes might be hard. He should have stocked up better in Cloudfields…

Brytta had far more scars than a girl her age should but the rest of her skin was smooth and pale, her breasts a soft, heavy weight in his hands. "Bath first!" she said breathlessly and Duncan grinned. She'd probably insist on bathing before killing the archdemon…

He forced his mind away from the image of what awaited them to end this Blight and slid her into the copper tub filled by water from the hot springs that surrounded Redcliffe. They bathed each other and once clean, Duncan was getting ready to-

"Can you hurry it up in there?" Cailan yelled from just outside as he tossed in some clean clothing. "The rest of us have to bathe too, you know."

If looks could have killed, the glare Duncan bestowed upon him as they exited should have dropped the young man where he stood… Until he saw the red-rimmed eyes and smelt the stench of ale on his breath. As Warden-Commander, Duncan had a duty to see to Cailan's emotional wellbeing, and there was no way he could be even close to well after hearing about Anora's collusion with Howe.

Brytta touched his leg lightly and he looked down to see a pair of understanding malachite-green eyes. Wordlessly she peeled herself from his arm and took herself to the seat Cailan had just vacated, applying herself to a big trencher of fish stew and the remnants of the cheese as Alistair looked helplessly at their commander.

Duncan simply wrapped his arms around the lad as a father would and Cailan crumpled, weeping as he buried his face in the part-Rivaini's shoulder. Everyone else in the tavern studiously ignored them, giving as much privacy as they could under the circumstances, until the former King stopped crying and wiped his eyes with a sniffle.

"I'm sorry," he said hoarsely. "I…"

"Have nothing to apologise for," Duncan told the young man gently. "We are your brothers and sisters of the Grey, Cailan. Until your Calling or ours, you will never be alone again, and few amongst us will judge you."

"Few?" Cailan asked, sniffling.

Duncan shrugged. "Even the Order has its problem siblings. But none of us here will think less of your tears."

"…Thank you," Cailan said, looking up at the others; Loghain had joined them and Duncan knew he'd need to see how the general was doing too. But the ex-Teyrn shook his head and instead ordered a trencher of stew and a flagon of ale, keeping his face averted.

Of the others, Alistair watched his brother sympathetically while Daveth, who'd returned after leaving Fluffy at the camp (who called a wild wolf that kind of name?), smiled and nodded at the flaxen-haired berserker. As for the ladies…

"Hey Morrigan, can you turn people into animals?" Brytta asked the witch.

"Toad," was the prompt reply. "I shall make this Anora a big warty toad."

"Anora _hates_ toads," Loghain grated from his seat in the corner.

"So much the fuckin' better," Daveth said. "Sorry, Loghain, but…"

The general looked over his shoulder, craggy face bleak. "My daughter has made her choice and forced me to make mine. I will always love her but I cannot put her above Ferelden."

"The same goes for you, Loghain," Duncan told him. "You are of the Grey now and we will support you however we can."

Loghain's smile was bleak. "Thank you, Duncan, but there is only one thing you can do for me: save Ferelden. I have nothing else remaining to me."

What else was there for Duncan to do but incline his head in acknowledgment and sit down for a hastily snatched meal delivered by a frizzy-haired waitress before getting some sleep?


	8. Command

Note: Thanks for the reviews! I changed Tragedy to Drama because my intentions with the story have changed. And yes, more Isolde bashing. I think there is a special circle reserved for Anora and Isolde in the Black City… It's also somewhat ironic that my autistic f!Cousland is slightly more tactful than Brytta at times! Obviously since Wynne is with the gang instead of at the Tower, the circumstances of her possession will have occurred differently. _SaaHira_ means 'witch, enchantress' in Arabic… And yes, there is some M-rated stuff in this chapter; you have been warned, so feel free to skip past that bit. :)

…

**Part 8: Command**

"Alright. Daveth, Alistair, Sten and… hmm… Wynne will go into the castle with Bann Teagan." Loghain's orders caused some consternation amongst his fellow Grey Wardens as they sat around a large round table at Bella's tavern, having a light breakfast before braving Redcliffe Castle. The informal high command – consisting of Loghain, Duncan, Fergus, Wynne and now Bann Teagan – had met earlier and made the decision… But from the looks of things, the junior Wardens were unimpressed… except for Brytta, who looked thoughtful.

"A mage must be kept with the army at all times; Duncan is the senior Warden and has contacts we need; and Cailan and I, apparently, are needed to counter Howe's accusations," the general continued.

"…No." Cailan spoke up, voice determined. "I sat out the last one; I won't be doing so this time."

"Cailan-"

"Commander, I need to do this," the former King said directly to Duncan, who until this time had been focusing on eating a meal of flatbread and fruit. The Warden-Commander looked up and nodded.

"Loghain, let Cailan do this. I cannot coddle him… and neither can you."

"Are you undermining my authority?" the general demanded.

Duncan fixed Loghain with a deceptively mild gaze. He knew that the ex-Teyrn was afloat in a world which had lost all its certainties but one: he was a general. But something needed to be made clear concerning Grey Warden command structure. "Over the army? No, you are a superior general to me. Involving the Grey Wardens? _I_ am your commander in that regards. Cailan goes and that is final, _Warden-Second_."

Loghain returned the gaze for several moments before offering a curt nod. "Very well… _Warden-Commander_." His steel-grey eyes narrowed. "And what if I were to suggest that if Cailan replaced Sten, Brytta replaced Daveth?"

"I was actually offended that you didn't think to send the dwarf into a place full of evil magic," the Duster piped up. "Besides, Atrast Hjarta has the scent of Owen's girl Valena. I made a promise to find her."

Duncan bowed his head in acquiescence, though his heart quailed at the thought of Brytta being in a castle full of only the Maker and the djinn knew what… But she was right. Resistant to magic as she was, she was a better choice than Daveth.

"Then it is decided." Loghain eyed each of the chosen party members. "Eat quickly. The sooner you enter, the sooner we discover what is going on."

Alistair turned his attention to the cheese platter… only to find Brytta feeding the final piece of Amaranthine Brie to Atrast Hjarta. "Now that's just rude," he complained. "I could die today and you give the last piece of cheese to the dog."

"You had four pieces to my two," Cailan grumbled as he checked the straps on his grey iron heavy chainmail. "I don't know why you're complaining."

"But I like cheese!"

"Me too!"

Atrast Hjarta barked in agreement, tail wagging.

Brytta rolled her vivid green eyes before devouring one more apple. Even for a Grey Warden, her appetite was prodigious; probably a legacy of her childhood as a Duster. Duncan should say something but with the threat of a famine come spring if farmland was lost to the Blight… He couldn't begrudge her the chance to have a full stomach just yet.

The fact she filled out her Grey Warden leathers quite nicely these days may have had something to do with his decision. Duncan often found himself regretting not succumbing to her advances in Cloudfields; it would have been nice to have a little privacy to assuage his desire for her.

So instead he settled on giving her a thorough kissing and murmuring words of love and farewell before sending her on her way. _In peace, vigilance. In war, victory. In death, sacrifice._ They were Grey Wardens. Even love could not stand against duty in the end. And Duncan considered himself blessed to have found someone who understood this.

…

"I see someone's decided to redecorate the place," Alistair observed sarcastically as Cailan's dragonbone greatsword severed a skeleton's upper half from its legs. The two brothers were a terrifyingly effective team and Brytta couldn't believe that King Maric had been stupid enough to have them raised separately.

"You have to admit, it's an improvement on those hideous Orlesian cherubs," the berserker pointed out as he wiped his sword clean with a hanging tapestry that depicted Orlesian chevaliers.

Teagan had been lured in by Arlessa Isolde, Arl Eamon's Orlesian wife and the biggest bitch-born noble hag Brytta had ever met outside of Orzammar. She and Lady Sereda Aeducan would have gotten on wonderfully, if what Rica's gossip about the Noble Caste was true. But the Bann had gone ahead bravely to buy the Grey Wardens and Wynne time to infiltrate the castle.

If Brytta died here, at least she'd fulfilled one promise and gotten Valena out of here; the serving girl had cleverly locked herself in a storage room and then took advantage of the secret tunnel under the lake once she'd been rescued. Explaining that might be awkward to Teagan, but so long as at least one innocent escaped this madhouse…

And then there was the blood mage Jowan, who'd revealed the source of the danger: Connor Guerrin, the arl's mage-born son. Apparently mages were taken from their families and dumped in a Tower; Wynne had pointed out non-mages were kept out as much as mages were kept in. Strange… But she wasn't human and dwarves didn't produce mages. So when Jowan offered to help, she told him he was staying in the cage for a while… And then it took every iota of persuasive skill she possessed to talk Alistair and Cailan into _not_ killing him for the moment.

_All important discussions involving the Theirin brothers are to be conducted sitting down minus metal armour with tidbits of cheese to keep them focused,_ she decided as they descended into the cellar towards the courtyard to let the Redcliffe knights in.

One giant armoured evil spirit and another dozen walking skeletons later, they walked into the Great Hall to see Bann Teagan leaping and cavorting around like a jester at the direction of a crazy kid who had to be Connor Guerrin. The ensuing fight was… awkward… until Cailan managed to knock Teagan out. Unfortunately, the guards had to die… and Isolde survived. Killing the arl's wife, who was officially raised to 'Most Useless Person Ever' by the group's mutual consensus, would have been even more awkward. Brytta didn't mind Eamon and she seriously thought the guy needed to find a noble-hunter or two to expand his bloodline. Maybe Rica would know a couple ladies for Teagan too…

Jowan's suggestion that they kill Isolde to send Wynne into the Fade to free Connor from a demon's grasp was met with a resounding "No!" Killing Connor was kind of also out of the question. Alistair suggested going to the Tower of Magi just across the lake to get some mages and lyrium; good idea, since that treaty needed to be collected too. "It'll be done," Brytta agreed; somehow the others wound up deferring to her and not just because she was involved with Duncan.

"What if Connor… awakens?" Arlessa Isolde asked. Brytta felt a touch sorry for her since she was going to lose her son, but she'd fucked up everything by trying to hide the kid's powers.

"I'll take that chance, lady. I don't kill kids unless they're dumb enough to try and murder me," Brytta replied. "I'm sure if your kid was in the right mind, he wouldn't be doing this."

"You imply you've killed children before!" Isolde gasped. "How could you do such a terrible thing?"

"She was _casteless_, Lady Isolde," Cailan said with some exasperation. "Surely you understand what that meant in Orzammar?"

"She killed children!" Isolde repeated. She reminded Brytta of a pet bird Jarvia owned that could talk… but repeated the same shit over and over again.

"I killed twelve and thirteen year olds who were trying to kill me for the rags on my back," Brytta growled. "Can we go now? We're wasting time."

"Please," Teagan replied, wiping blood from his forehead. "Let Loghain know what is going on."

"No, I thought we'd hop on a boat and leave without telling him," Cailan responded sarcastically.

"Loghain is alive?" Isolde sounded shocked. "I thought he died with Cailan!"

"…Aunt Isolde, I'm right in front of you," the ex-King said incredulously. "We both survived, though because we were tainted, we had to become Grey Wardens to live."

"You are no longer King! You have no heir. Ferelden will fall into civil war!"

"You mean Arl Howe hadn't already put it there?" Brytta asked, exasperated. This woman really was too stupid to live.

"I will not be mocked by a child-killer!" Isolde retorted.

"Jowan, are you sure Arl Eamon didn't ask to be poisoned to get away from her?" Brytta asked the blood mage, jerking a thumb at the Orlesian woman.

The silence which descended upon the hall was deafening… Until it was broken by Alistair's rather tactless but understandable laughter. Lady Isolde had ordered him to sleep with the dogs and then get dumped into the Chantry after all.

"We are leaving _right_ now," Wynne said firmly, grabbing Brytta's arm. "Bann Teagan, we should return in a day or so, three at the most."

The Bann nodded, his expression pained. "Maker watch over you."

"May He watch over us all." And then the four people and one dog left at a run because time was of the essence.

…

Duncan sighed even as his lips twitched with amusement as Brytta delivered her report. Loghain gave a short bark of laughter at her insult of the Orlesian Lady Isolde while the other Wardens and commanders in the army grinned or chuckled. Yes, Lady Isolde was _not_ beloved amongst Ferelden's nobility… but Brytta needed to learn to curb her tongue. Grey Wardens had enough trouble at the moment; they didn't need the mouthy little Duster adding more fuel to the fire.

Loghain looked expectantly at Duncan; as he had reasserted his rank as Warden-Commander, it was his duty to reprimand Brytta. He sighed inwardly as he set aside his feelings for her and looked sternly at her. The little dwarf immediately realised she was in trouble by the way she hung her head ashamedly. Brytta hated disappointing him.

"Junior Warden Brytta, your words were out of line and ill befitting one of the Grey. For the duration of our journey to the Circle of Magi you are responsible for the latrines and are assigned to second watch. And on our return, you will formally apologise to Lady Isolde, and then to Arl Eamon when he wakes up. Is that clear?"

"Yes, Warden-Commander," the Duster girl mumbled. "I'm sorry."

Duncan held her malachite gaze with a harsh look and then nodded. "Dismissed, Junior Warden." He then looked up at Daveth, Alistair and Morrigan. "Daveth, Alistair, with me. Wynne, of course, will be coming with us. Morrigan, I trust you can stay out of trouble?"

"I will not turn anybody into a toad," the witch promised airily.

"I am _not_ in the mood for flippancy, Morrigan, or insubordination. Is that clear?"

Flemeth's daughter narrowed her yellow eyes and then nodded curtly. Duncan then turned to the Grey Wardens and Senior Enchanter accompanying him. "You have two hours to prepare. I have heard rumours from Bodhan Feddic that worry me about the Circle today and I would be prepared for trouble."

"Trouble?" Wynne asked worriedly.

"Something about Kinloch Hold being closed off by the templars," Duncan replied, his voice softening a touch. "I know nothing more than that, I fear."

"Daveth, go buy that sword from Kaitlyn," Brytta ordered, pressing five gold sovereigns into the thief's hand. "We need it and she needs the cash." She turned towards Alistair. "See what you can scrounch up for food from the quartermaster… Trail rations, no cheese."

"You know, technically I rank you," the Warden-Ensign pointed out.

"And technically the last time you sorted out the rations without explicit instructions, we wound up with three wheels of cheese and half a bag of nuts," Brytta reminded him, a touch of uncharacteristic acidity to her mezzo-soprano voice.

"I'll go with him," Daveth offered. "Chantry's on the way."

"Good." Brytta turned to Duncan. "I need to replace one of my daggers, so I'm hoping Valena got out of the castle and Owen's feeling generous."

Duncan nodded. "I'll accompany you," he offered. "My baldric needs repairing." He looked at Loghain. "Need anything more from me?"

"I think you've everything under control," the general replied, harsh voice tinged with approval. Duncan inclined his head as Wynne – technically not under his command – announced her intention to make some precious lyrium potions to replenish her mana. Then he left Bella's tavern, Brytta following him submissively.

As always, the Duster was subdued after a reprimand as they walked down to the smithy and Duncan wondered if she could tell the difference between commander and lover. Come to think of it, he wasn't sure he could at times.

"I'm sorry, Warden-Commander," she finally said. "She kept on calling me a child killer and acting like one of those Noble Castes who don't know anything about life as a Duster and look down on you because of what you have to do to survive. I know what I said was wrong and I'm sorry if I embarrassed the Order… and you."

"Ah, love," he murmured softly. "At your age, I might have said something similar to a noble. And even now I need to bite my tongue around Isolde."

"But you're the Warden-Commander and have to act like it, and make sure we of the Grey live up to the Order's standards," Brytta said softly. "I understand when you are Warden-Commander… and when you are Duncan. I just hate disappointing the pair of you."

Without thinking, Duncan wrapped his arms around Brytta, turned her around, and planted a quick hard kiss on her lips. "And that is why I love you, _maHábba_. Because you _understand_."

Then he stepped away from her and became the Warden-Commander again. "Let's finish our preparations. We need to hurry to the Tower."

…

Owen was beyond ecstatic and grateful for Valena's rescue and would have given Brytta half his arms and armour for her deeds. She managed to talk him into a discount on a pair of steel daggers and a nice enchanted dwarven-forged breastplate instead, which looked like it would suit Daveth. The blacksmith also mended Duncan's baldric and the straps on his cuirass for free. Within the hour, they were ready to go to the Tower.

The weather was raw and blustery enough to make Duncan choose the overland route instead of boating across; much to their frustration, they ran into a knot of dangerous darkspawn, four emissaries and something Duncan called a Hurlock Omega supported by two Hurlock alphas. After the battle, Wynne collapsed and had to be helped up by Alistair and Daveth. Because the sun was westering anyways, Duncan called it a night so the elderly mage could rest.

Much to her surprise, Alistair came to help with the latrines. "I told Duncan I laughed," he admitted ruefully as he dug the trench. "So… here I am."

"I should've kept my yap shut," Brytta sighed as Duncan and Daveth pitched tents. "I didn't act very Grey Warden-like back there."

"She called you a child killer. Now I imagine that life sucked in Dust Town but you aren't the kind of person to kill innocents," Alistair said quietly.

"I didn't kill little kids, if that what you meant," Brytta said carefully as she spaded the dirt to one side to cover their mess in the morning. "But I roughed up and even killed people whose only crime was to fuck off Beraht somehow. I left kids orphaned, women widowed…" The Duster sighed as Alistair stared at her. "I don't expect you to understand, Alistair. Duncan's given me a chance to be better than I was and I'm grateful for it. That's why I love him… Because he believes I can be more than a carta thug."

"You are more than a carta thug," the royal bastard assured her with a smile. "From what I've heard of Orzammar, you probably didn't have a choice. Besides, you agreed to help save Connor without killing Isolde… and that's a big deal to me. I owe Arl Eamon a lot and if this repays the debt a bit, I'm glad."

"So we'll get this shit sorted with the mages, go save Connor, and then decide which treaty to collect first while your brother and Loghain and that Cousland guy fuck up Howe and this bitch Abora," Brytta said with a smile. "…And thanks for not being a jerk about my past."

"You're welcome. And her name's Anora… Speaking of Cousland, what do you think of him?"

"Seems decent enough. Why are you asking?"

Alistair sighed. "It's an open secret I'm a royal bastard and Cailan really wasn't a good king. Great guy, but Anora ran the show. _Somebody's _going to toss my name into the hat whether I like it or not – despite me being a Grey Warden."

"And you want to see if Cousland's worth supporting, huh?" Brytta leaned on her spade and looked at the big ex-templar. "His people speak well of him, the Chasind love him, and he doesn't kick dogs. If it's a choice between Howe and Cousland, I'll take the guy working _with_ us."

"Huh. I love your uncomplicated worldview at times…" Alistair shook his head. "Well, we're done. Who's cooking?"

"I am," Duncan called over from the fire he'd started, Fluffy and Atrast Hjarta chewing on beef bones they'd found in Arl Eamon's castle after dealing with those rabid mabari. Both creatures had been painted in kaddis: Fluffy black stripes, Hjarta white circles and spirals. From the scent drifting from the pot, Duncan was cooking his famous porridge seasoned with strips of dried rabbit… Bland as a Noble Caste's smile but better than what Alistair called cooking.

Wynne had revived somewhat and was cradling a tin cup of tea. "There is something I need to tell you," the mage said as the others sat around the fire. She then proceeded to tell a tale so fantastic that Brytta had trouble believing it: good Fade spirits taking mages over because they died at Ostagar? All she knew about was the demons… But Wynne didn't _look _evil…

Duncan looked more awed than anything else and Brytta remembered that his mother had been Rivaini, a people that revered spirits. "You are _saaHira_," the Warden-Commander said with a bow of the head. "I am honoured to be in the presence of one whom the djinn favour."

"I… Thank you," Wynne said, blinking. "I had forgotten you were part-Rivaini, my friend."

For his part, Daveth just shrugged. "Good, bad… You ain't put me in the pot yet so we're good."

"I can sense nothing demonic so… Not my problem," Alistair said quietly. "I won't run to the Chantry about it."

"Bless you, lads," Wynne said with an indulgent smile.

"No skin off my back," Brytta replied. "Duncan and the others trust you, so that's good enough for me."

"Thank you, Brytta." Wynne and the Duster didn't really know each other since the latter preferred the company of the sharp-tongued Morrigan. But the dwarven girl meant what she said.

"You're welcome… Let's eat. I'm starving and we've a long way to go tomorrow." Brytta suited action to words, eating ravenously and then curling up for a nap. She had second watch, the lousiest one since it was the middle of the night, and would need all the rest she could get.

…

Wynne took over from Brytta at third watch, pointing out that since she got up that early anyways, she might as well put the time to good use. Duncan noted that the little dwarf didn't head for her tent but instead made her way to the lakeshore with the cake of lye soap that she kept in a shoulder-bag. His little Dust Town diamond was addicted to bathing… and truth be told, he was addicted to watching her.

To that end, the dark-skinned rogue rummaged in his pack for the hard green Rivaini soap, scented with rosemary, that he preferred. It was better for her than the laundry soap she'd bought from Bodhan… and to be quite frank, the stuff she used smelt awful. He wanted her to smell like a Rivaini woman, not some Fereldan washerwoman.

Brytta, ever practical, had also brought the clothing which needed to be washed: some underthings, the men's spare shirts, a pair of Alistair's breeches which had gotten stained during the undead attack, Daveth's socks… Duncan winced as he realised she still only had the one shirt, breeches and pair of socks from Cloudfields… and a loincloth and breastband made from the rags of her Duster clothes. He watched as she scrubbed and pounded and stretched out the clothing on the rocks, a task she was obviously well-acquainted with. Interestingly, she'd kept her underthings on, perhaps in case if the shy Alistair came wandering this way.

_Poor lad, he's going to die of embarrassment before he's twenty-three,_ Duncan thought as he stealthily made his way towards Brytta, a snow owl fluttering between the trees overhead. He'd taken first watch with Alistair and Daveth would have fourth.

Brytta finished and rubbed the small of her back with a groan as she remained kneeling by the lake, things spread out on clean rocks to dry. "Let me do that for you," Duncan offered huskily, setting down the soap, as his mouth descended to the side of her neck to nip and suck and lick until a mark would be left for all the world to see.

"Stone-forsaken tits of my mother's mothers!" Brytta breathed as Duncan's strong hands splayed across her back, long legs bracketing her shorter ones as he knelt behind her. He could feel the knots in her muscles from digging latrines and washing plus the fights she'd endured today… He was glad Alistair had confessed to laughing because it meant he could lighten her workload without seeming like he was going easier upon her.

He massaged her shoulders, enjoying the quiet moans of relief she made and the feel of battle-hardened muscle beneath soft pale skin. His little diamond had freckles and a tan now, but she was still so beautifully fair against his dark skin… Duncan groaned when she 'accidentally' ground her ample backside against his groin, stifling the noise by burying his face in her messy auburn curls. Wynne would be polite enough to ignore them, but Daveth would likely interrupt for the hell of it.

"The nobles of Orzammar missed out when I conscripted you," Duncan growled as he pressed a kiss to the top of her head. He carefully unknotted her breastband and cast the ragged garment aside, large hands holding her generous breasts until he knew the ache would pass, thumbs feathering across her nipples.

Brytta moaned and stuffed her fist into her mouth to be considerate to the sleeping members of their group as her backside ground harder against him, this time with a little less control. Duncan chuckled throatily and untied her loincloth, reminding himself – again – to get her new smallclothes.

"B-Bath!" she gasped, reaching for her soap. Duncan laughed softly and grabbed it before she could get it, holding it high above her reach.

"I got you better soap," he told her as her body tensed in annoyance. "You'll use mine now."

Tossing the lye soap aside, he picked up the Rivaini soap from Llomerryn. "Use this," he commanded, his voice raspy with desire. "I want to watch you bathe."

He wanted to do more than that but he'd prefer their first night of lovemaking to be in a proper bed or even a bathroom. His bones just couldn't take the ground these days… Not to mention you could do more in a bed. Or a bathtub. But _not _by Lake Calenhad.

Brytta took the soap and obeyed with a smile. The bar travelled across her skin as she lathered herself leisurely; Duncan groaned in frustration as she focused on her neck, her arms, her legs… He didn't mind so much when she began to wash her hair because her arms were raised, displaying her breasts nicely. His little Dust Town diamond was shameless…

By the time she got to her privy parts, Duncan had stripped off his braies, his hand going to his length. If he couldn't have her at the moment, at least he would have this small respite from the overwhelming burdens he endured as Warden-Commander.

_"I understand when you are Warden-Commander… and when you are Duncan."_ It was Duncan who watched the dwarven woman shamelessly pleasure herself, all pretence of bathing forgotten, with bared and gritted teeth, hard rasping breaths and a stroking hand. He came with a growl as she shuddered around her delving fingers, malachite-green eyes wide and soft and dozy.

It was Duncan who swiftly washed himself as the grey light of predawn began to brighten the darkness about them and then washed Brytta's back for her after she'd washed his. It was Duncan who picked up the dried laundry for the little Duster as she dressed, hot dark eyes watching her generous curves vanish beneath coarse patched linen regretfully. It was Duncan who indulged himself in one last hard deep kiss just before he heard the whistle of Daveth heading this way to no doubt bathe and relieve himself.

But it was the Warden-Commander who told her to make sure Wynne and Alistair were ready to go, to stir up the fire, and to make sure the latrine trench was filled. And in those sweet malachite-green eyes he saw a soul who understood the needs of both sides of him and accepted it without question. She might screw up now and then, but she always understood. And for that, Duncan would forever be grateful to Maker and djinn alike.


	9. Dreams

Note: Thanks for the reviews and favourites and alerts! I'm presenting a different version of the Fade sequence here because while I know the Warden's meant to be the Hero and all, I can't believe that strong-willed people like Wynne would fall easily or need to be rescued. And of course, Duncan is so awesome he could free himself… I'm not saying anything about Alistair's lack of willpower in this story, but his need for a family is pretty overwhelming… :( I apologise for the amount of language in this bit; for some reason, Brytta's just a bit ticked off.

…

**Part 9: Dreams**

The world was blurry and indistinct, the rules of physicality strange. Even the Stone beneath her feet felt untrustworthy. She shouldn't be here, not as a dwarf… But Brytta Brosca was and she was now _beyond_ pissed.

She was standing in the middle of an open courtyard flagged with the same creamy white granite which made up the walls of the Tevinter fortress which surrounded it. Duncan stood in the middle, grave and stern like the first time she'd seen him in Orzammar, while a human swordsman and mage stood near the ramp to the courtyard.

"How do you like Weisshaupt?" Duncan asked in the calm, measured tones that he used during command and formal occasions. Nothing of the soft growl and rasp his voice developed when he saw her naked or was pressed against her; none of the warmth he possessed when he was simply Duncan. No, this was the Warden-Commander making a polite enquiry into the welfare of one of his recruits.

If this was what the Sloth demon thought she wanted above all over things, that fucker was going to learn very, very differently.

"I'm sure I'd like it a lot," Brytta replied as she unsheathed her steel dagger and the Aeducan mace. "If it were the real thing."

"What do you mean by that?" Duncan protested.

"_Please._ This isn't my Duncan and by the Stone-cursed balls of my father's fathers I am going to make you pay for fucking with me and mine," Brytta vowed.

"I tried to give you peace but you have thrown it in my face. Very well; only death and war satisfy you. I shall give it to you." And then fake-Duncan attacked along with the mage and swordsman.

_Sonuvabitch!_ She was so used to the way that Duncan fought (dual blades and dancing feet) that she didn't think to consider that this… demon… would fight sword-and-shield. He fought like Alistair, heavy-footed and stalwart, and it took her critical moments to adjust her tactics accordingly… During which the mage attempted to freeze her solid.

It was a nice try, she supposed, except that her innate resistance to magic kicked in enough to make her sheathed in nothing more than a thin crackling coating of hoarfrost. The human warrior switched to a longbow and sought to cripple her as the demon-Duncan tried to take her head.

She ducked below the blow, one favoured by hurlocks, and hooked an arm around the demon's legs to throw him in the path of the warrior's arrows. Three thudded into the fake-Duncan's back, blood blooming scarlet on the white robes as she followed the momentum to drive her dagger through the archer's gut with a long lunge. Then she whipped the knife out and threw it underarmed after a graceful spin, taking the mage in the left thigh. He fell and she raised the Aeducan mace two-handed, leaping forward to smash the prone demon in the head. Plucking her dagger from the demon's corpse, she spun again and plunged it into the fake-Duncan's throat, twisting to make sure he was dead.

Brytta choked on a soft sob as she looked at the bloodied corpse of the man she loved. "Fuck you, Sloth!" she screamed and imagined a demon laughing in the distance as she fell into another dream.

…

"_Fuck you, Sloth!"_

Brytta's voice rang out through the Fade and Atrast Hjarta perked her ears up as she lay by the fireplace in some unknown room. The world smelt wrong and the things masquerading as her short two-legs and the tall two-legs _she'd_ imprinted on smelt even worse. She'd just been going along with it to make the things think everything was going their way.

Silly wrong-bad two-legs! Atrast Hjarta might have been the runt of her litter but she was also the smartest and had the best nose. Much like her chosen two-legs: Brytta (strange name but then two-legs were always a bit odd; it was why they needed mabari to keep them out of trouble!) had come to help her when she'd been sickened by the black blood. First the muzzle, which Atrast Hjarta hadn't much liked but forgave because her two-legs had patted her and said sorry afterwards, and then the sweet-smelling flower which stopped the burning. It was then the mabari had decided her first master, some stupid tall two-legs who didn't love her the way she ought to, had been a fake one and that Brytta was really meant to be her two-legs.

Ever since she'd found her just north of the swamp, Atrast Hjarta had followed her two-legs everywhere. She even put up with that stupid wolf that followed the dark-haired two-legs. She deserved lots of cheese for that concession, she reckoned.

The tall dark-skinned older two-legs that Brytta had imprinted on was worthy of her; he gave good scratches and always made sure Atrast Hjarta had a bone. Sure, he gave one to stupid wolf too, but that just meant he was fair. Or maybe he wanted a mabari. The little red hound would need to find him one. Everybody her two-legs dealt with deserved a mabari. Even stupid dark-haired two-legs who preferred wolves and the dark-haired female-mage two-legs who _turned_ into a wolf! If you could change your shape, wouldn't it make sense to become a mabari? Maybe dark-haired female-mage two-legs didn't know any better. Atrast Hjarta would have to teach her.

A couple of crunches and the pair of wrong-bad two-legs were dead for the insult of mimicking _her_ two-legs and the mate she'd imprinted on. Atrast Hjarta howled her defiance and then set herself to the task of sniffing out her two-legs to help find the others.

…

"I think that is enough."

Wynne's eyes flared lyrium-blue as the Spirit of Faith enveloped by her too-fragile flesh spoke through her lips. The ageing mage set herself into a combat stance as the demons in the form of her dead apprentices shuddered back into their real shapes, alarmed by the presence of such a powerful Fade spirit.

"Please, let us go," whispered a minor hunger demon. "We were just hungry. We would never have taken your human had we known, even though Sloth commanded it."

"You know I cannot allow you to exist," the Spirit said sadly. "For you have fallen through your own wickedness and there is nothing that can make you pure again."

"It is one; we are many!" roared a rage demon. "Attack!"

Even for demons, the Spirit could feel the human Wynne's pity for these broken, wretched creatures even as she allowed it to take control. But that pity could not stay her hand – or its own – as earthen armour encased the fragile flesh of her form and the staff was raised to summon attacks which made short work of this wretched things.

The Spirit of Faith mulled over the companions Wynne found herself with as the defiant shout of one ("Inappropriate language," she complained with a sigh) was followed by the howling of another. These Grey Wardens took darkness and taint within themselves to save humanity from worse things than abominations and demons. Wynne switched between admiration, respect, exasperation and frustration with the seven Wardens, in particular the mage Morrigan, whom she called _apostate_, and the dwarf Brytta, whom she felt was distracting the elder Warden Duncan from his duty with thoughts of love.

As fond of Wynne as it was (to the point of bonding with her), the Spirit disagreed. It had friends amongst the Spirits of Love, and the force they represented was one of the most powerful in both the Fade and the material world. Desire demons mocked that driving, relentless force but could never conquer it.

But it would let Wynne learn her own lessons. Instead the Spirit searched for the nearest untainted soul within this place and travelled to it. There was a Sloth demon to kill and then a Pride demon to finish in the Tower Wynne loved so much.

…

Alistair ate another slice of mince pie (made with real beef!) with an absolute heaping serve of mushy peas and mashed potato-and-cheese on it as Goldanna, the sister he'd never met until now, smiled happily and offered another. She was amazed by a Grey Warden's appetite and cheerfully listened to all the stories he had to tell about being a hero in the Blight.

"Unca Alistair?" one of her kids asked. "What'd Brytta do then?"

The ex-templar knew it really wasn't appropriate to tell children the story of the day he'd drunk an entire flagon of dwarven ale at the Duster's challenge, but Goldanna didn't seem to mind. She even let him go sockless at the dinner table and belch loud as he pleased; now _that_ was sisterly love.

He idly wondered if Duncan and Brytta would join him tonight; it just wasn't dinner without them. Seeing the man he considered his father happy with the little scrappy Duster made him happy. He'd have to work on a way to get them some privacy soon…

Think of the Warden-Commander and he came: Duncan, clad in his white robes and silverite plate, stepped around the corner and into the comfortable kitchen where Alistair sat. "There you are," the dark-skinned man said, his deep voice relieved. "We need to find the others and go."

"Go where?" Goldanna asked curiously. "I've only just served dinner."

"You should stay," Alistair agreed. "She's cooked her famous mince pie!"

"We can't," Duncan said gently. "We need to get free of the Sloth Demon and save the mages."

"He's crazy. The taint's finally gotten to him," Alistair told Goldanna apologetically.

_"Warden-Ensign, get on your feet immediately!"_ Alistair jumped up at the rarely displayed battlefield roar Duncan was capable of. Normally the man was endlessly patient and grave; something must have put his braies in a bunch today. Maybe it was Alistair telling Goldanna about the taint…

"Yesser!" Alistair saluted, something he rarely did.

_"Armour up and let's go!"_ Duncan roared again.

"Yesser!" Alistair repeated, finding himself armoured in a fine set of Grey Warden armour he'd never yet had the chance to wear due to a lack of tithing.

"No," Goldanna said, her voice harsh and deep. "We will not let him go."

When the ensuing fight against demons was over, Alistair was devastated; that warm feeling of _family_ and _home_ was gone, replaced by a sick sense of sorrow and nausea. But Alistair covered it with a heavy sigh and a jokingly said, "Damn, she made some good mince pie though."

Duncan chuckled but the sharp look in his dark eyes indicated he knew exactly what was going on in Alistair's mind. "Let's go save our errant dwarf, dog and mage," was all the Warden-Commander said before they set their feet to the twisting roads of the Fade.

…

Atrast Hjarta barked enthusiastically as the mists of the Fade parted to reveal Duncan and Alistair; Wynne (or in reality the Spirit of Faith which sustained her) had arrived shortly on the heels of Brytta's beloved hound. They waited with Niall, the mage who had taken the Litany of Adralla to defeat the blood mages, who'd told Brytta about the demons needed to be killed so that Sloth was weakened.

Brytta stretched out her arms, stone grating against stone within her golem form. The others had managed to release themselves from their dreams but she had been forced to fight her way through five lesser demons. On the upside, she felt utterly unstoppable in this form. If only the Warrior Caste could see her now!

"I'd give you a hug, Duncan, but I might squish you," she told the dark-skinned human as his eyes widened, realising who the golem was.

"I should have realised you'd end up taller than the rest of us here," he responded with a chuckle. "Does that mean you're now the dumbest of the lot of us?"

"Fuck you, Duncan!" Brytta retorted as Alistair grinned.

"Promises, promises," the Warden-Commander said, his voice raspy with desire in that way which made her knees weak, even in this rocky shape.

"Brytta, language!" Wynne said sharply; the Spirit had obviously ceded control back to her. "We need to finish this demon off and return to the Tower to save Irving."

"Let's go show this fucker what a bunch of pissed-off Wardens can do to it," Brytta said, banging her stony fists together.

Wynne sighed, Alistair said, "Hell yes!" in a particularly fervent way that made her wonder exactly how the demons had fucked with him, Duncan simply nodded with a savage grin, and Atrast Hjarta barked joyfully.

And they did.

…

"Poor bastard," Duncan said with a sigh as he retrieved a parchment scroll from the dead mage's body. Atrast Hjarta whined low in her throat as Brytta stretched out the kinks from being prone on a hard stone floor. Then the Duster walked over to the Sloth demon's corpse and kicked it a few times.

"Fuck you, you fucking fuck!" she hissed; Wynne sighed wearily and Alistair nodded in agreement. Duncan knew how much losing _home_, even a false one, would hurt the lad; he'd once felt the same when his family had died and forced him onto the streets of Val Royeaux. The Warden-Commander placed a hand on the ex-templar's shoulder and squeezed in mute understanding; Alistair looked at him and gave a quick, sad smile.

"So… we need to find Irving and quickly," he said, taking command. Brytta stopped kicking the demon's corpse and nodded, her malachite-green eyes hard as gems. He would need to speak to her later; even to him, a man who had been trapped in the Fade before and who went there nightly, this had been terrifying. To a dwarf, who didn't dream…? No wonder his little diamond was so angry and shaken.

It took remarkably little time to plough through the remaining abominations and shades on the fourth level of the Tower… even a bunch of dragonlings, of all things! Brytta palmed a rather nice red steel dagger and stuck it in her belt, but she hung onto the Aeducan mace. He noticed that the dwarven rogue tended to use that weapon when she felt the need to purge her emotions in violence instead of the twin daggers she otherwise preferred. He'd have to discuss that with her too.

They met a templar trapped within a barrier, praying and cursing the demons; Alistair and Wynne identified him as Cullen and tried to assure him that all would be well. But Cullen wanted all the mages dead because they were all surely abominations, even somebody called Muirne… Duncan gathered the templar loved this mage.

"Muirne is with Parean, Judy and several others, protecting the children downstairs," Wynne told him gently.

"He's not going to listen to you," Alistair warned. "His mind's been damaged by the blood mages."

"Can we discuss his mental condition later?" Brytta snapped. "I want to kill this fuck Uldred, get the mages free, and get back to Redcliffe."

_Yes, Brytta suffered in the Fade,_ Duncan thought worriedly as he said aloud, "I would rather spare blood mages rather than kill innocents." Indeed, he had with the blood mage downstairs…

"No one ever listens…" Cullen said dejectedly.

Duncan sighed but went towards what could only be the Harrowing Chamber. There was nothing which could be done but to defeat this Uldred and restore order to the Circle.

The battle which followed was brutal, even for an experienced combatant like Duncan: Alistair, templar-trained, had stood amidst the storm of magic chanting the Litany of Adralla even as he unleashed cleansing strikes and smites to stop Uldred from turning the remaining mages (especially Irving) into abominations. The happy-go-lucky lad was replaced with the hard-eyed, set-jawed Theirin prince he should have been, had Maric the courage to raise him and Eamon the decency to teach him. With both Theirins now Grey Wardens, the throne of Ferelden was up for grabs at the worst possible time.

Brytta's berserker rage could have taught the Ash Warriors a thing or two as she bashed her way through the abominations towards Uldred. Her fury and Wynne's sorcery gave Duncan the opportunity to sneak behind the pride abomination and slide his silverite longsword up and into the monster's back almost delicately. Blood burst from the creature's mouth as it fell to its knees, its head pulverised by Wynne's stonefist spell and then turned into little more than red paste by the time Brytta had finished using the Aeducan mace.

Once Uldred was dead, Alistair went to help Irving up, the old man muttering some choice words. Duncan joined him; he knew and admired the First Enchanter quite well… With a whimsical smile, he recalled the _first_ time he'd come to Kinloch Hold, robbing Remille's bedroom of the scarlet-veined black dagger he still carried today. He also recalled Remille's replacement Irving's amusement when Duncan, then Warden-Second, had confessed to the theft.

_Maker's blood and djinn's smile but I am old, _he reflected as he led the motley group of survivors down to Greagoir, Cullen arguing all the way. He wanted to hug Brytta and coax from her the pain she must surely feel; he wanted to confide in her his own pain. But first he had to be Warden-Commander and confirm the treaty from the Magi… and get help to save Connor Guerrin.

Greagoir was readily convinced that order had been returned to the Circle; Irving confirmed the mages would combat the Blight and agreed to aid Connor. They were even able to retain Wynne at her request. It all happened so swiftly that it left the exhausted Wardens dizzy; they were offered pallets in the foyer but by unspoken consensus travelled back to the docks of Lake Calenhad and bought rooms at the Spoilt Princess.

So utter was their exhaustion that everyone went to their beds in the loft after a meal of watery cabbage soup and weak ale and collapsed. But none of them slept that night and Duncan listened to the sound of Brytta breathing until dawn, neither of them speaking.


	10. Strength

Note: Thanks for the reviews. Some more M-rated Duncan/Brytta spiciness in this chapter; feel free to skip that bit if it makes you uncomfortable. Parean is sn0w0wl's creation from 'Solace Amidst the Chaos', an AU Loghain/Warden!romance; Muirne is a mage PC of mine. I'm also doing the intelligent thing involving Connor; packing him off to the Tower ASAP. I'd intended to keep Cailan with Loghain… but he snuck those cursed plot-nugs some cheese while I wasn't looking… I am also intending to avoid the popular 'Morristair' pairing… :P I'm using bathhouse and hot springs to explain a lack of tubs in Redcliffe Castle… :) I'm also playing around with a personal quest or two and the recruitment of companions… I'm not joking when I call this AU.

…

**Part 10: Strength**

"Thank the Maker you've returned!"

Bann Teagan looked about as exhausted as Brytta felt as the Wardens and Wynne entered the Great Hall, having come overland while the mages and their templar escorts came by boat. No one but the dog had slept well and on seeing them, Loghain had remarked that they looked like they'd been fighting the Blight on their own. When Duncan gave a terse account of the events at Kinloch Hold, the general had sworn vociferously before ordering them to get some rest.

The Warden-Commander had ignored him and made for the castle with the others, including Cailan and Morrigan, just in case things went wrong. Brytta figured they could sleep when Connor was safe… If then.

She couldn't get the image of a dead Duncan from her head no matter how much she tried. And judging by the haunted look which sometimes crossed his aquiline features, the demon had done bad shit to Duncan too. And that alone made her want to go back and kick Uldred's rotting corpse a few more times.

Irving and his chief assistants Muirne and Parean set up the lyrium with the efficiency of long experience while Morrigan promptly volunteered to deal with the demon. Wynne raised an objection – pointing out that the witch wasn't a Harrowed mage, whatever that was – and Duncan told the Circle mage that he trusted in Morrigan to see it done. The witch had listened quite intently to Duncan's report on what had happened in the Fade and even looked sympathetic… Not to mention the fact she was both a Warden and non-exhausted. Wynne, even with spirit in tow, was just too tired.

As the magic gathered around Morrigan and cast her into the Fade, Brytta stuffed her fist into her mouth and stifled the whimpers at the brief glimpse of that swirling lawless plane of existence. She wanted to bury herself in the Stone for the next year, even if meant returning to Dust Town, and be amongst her own kind with no mages about. She hoped that the next treaty to be collected would be Orzammar… But she wouldn't ask Duncan to make a decision based on what she wanted. She couldn't. It wasn't what Grey Wardens did. They put the world above their own needs.

A strong arm wrapped around her and drew her close as somebody kneeled beside her; it was Duncan, his large frame enfolding hers protectively. "Ssh, _maHábba_, I am here. All is safe," he murmured gently. Brytta huddled within that strong embrace, trying not to cry as the minutes stretched into an eternity of agonising fear.

Suddenly, shockingly, Morrigan returned, steel-studded Warden Blue robes flaring about her as she fell to her knees with a sudden gasp. "'Tis finished," she said softly but clearly. "The demon is dead."

"You are certain?" Irving asked.

"Do you doubt the word of a Grey Warden and the daughter of Flemeth?" Morrigan responded with every scrap of cool arrogance she could gather as she rose to her feet.

"When Duncan last visited the Tower, you praised his judgment," Brytta heard the beak-nosed brunette with curves to rival a dwarven woman who called herself Muirne say to Irving. "I think this is one of those times to trust it."

"Very well," Irving agreed with a sigh. "I shall trust your word… Morrigan?"

"Aye, Morrigan is my name," the yellow-eyed witch replied coolly.

"Thank you." Irving bowed his head politely as Parean, a slim girl with blonde hair tucked behind her ears, brought a warmed blanket for the witch.

"You are welcome, I suppose." Morrigan turned away as Wynne and a mage called Finn trotted upstairs to check on Connor and Arl Eamon.

Duncan released Brytta and rose to his feet. "Well done, Morrigan. Cailan, could you oversee the mages? Those of us who went to the Tower need a good rest… and Loghain will need a report."

"I can offer you hospitality and send someone for Loghain," Bann Teagan said. "We will need to discuss our next step anyway, Warden-Commander."

Brytta took a deep, shaky breath and forced herself to move. She needed to get her shit together and not fall apart on Duncan. He was relying on her. Maybe Wynne was right, maybe she should just… let him go. He needed to be strong. But the little Duster doubted her own strength now.

"Don't bother sending for me," rasped Loghain as he strode into the Great Hall with Ser Perth in tow. "I am, when necessary, still quite capable of making a ten-minute run in full armour."

"The boy will be fine," Wynne said from the doorway leading towards the second floor. "I do think, however, we need to get him to the Circle as soon as possible."

"No!" Isolde cried. "He must… stay here… until the Blight is finished."

"You… do him… no favours… keeping him here." Much to Brytta's surprise it was the templar Cullen, a man she'd last seen broken and homicidal towards all mages, who spoke. The thin, gaunt human stepped closer, brown eyes glittering with intensity. "The mages are decimated. We need to replace them. And outside of the Circle, your son is vulnerable. _As has been proven._"

"Isolde!" Teagan's voice sounded like the crack of a whip, making the Orlesian woman start. "Connor goes. During the Blight, being at the Circle might just be the safest thing for him."

"And what do you think Eamon will say about this?" Isolde challenged as Morrigan shrugged off her blanket and went to intervene in the argument, only to find Cailan's iron grip on her shoulder.

"This isn't Grey Warden business," the flaxen-haired young man told the furious witch. "And I know your opinions on the Circle, but unless you're willing to have the boy conscripted and be responsible for him, it really is the best place."

"And we do not conscript under the age of fourteen unless the child is truly on the verge of being killed or rendered Tranquil," Duncan added.

"…Very well," Morrigan hissed through gritted teeth. "I shall remain silent."

"There's a pleasant change," Alistair muttered, only to receive an elbow in the side which made him grimace in pain from Daveth.

"Eamon is sick, Isolde. We must find a way to cure him… or accept that he will never recover." Teagan's voice was sorrowful and regretful.

"The Urn of Sacred Ashes can cure him!"

"The Urn of Sacred Ashes is a myth you dispatched the knights of Redcliffe chasing after!"

"Hey… Didn't Ser Donal say that Ser Henric had received word that Brother Genitivi knew where it was?" Alistair asked Brytta, startling her from the light doze she'd fallen into.

"Uh… Yeah, think so. Wasn't he… dead or somethin'?"

"The note we got from Ser Henric's body, Brytta," Alsitair said softly, his speech slurred. "Ser Donal's alive."

"Uh huh, yeah, that's right… But it's in Den'rim." Brytta's eyes were closing again. She was so tired… "Howe's not gonna let us wander around."

Duncan, who had his wits about him a bit more, pursed his lips. "…It might be worth the effort to go to Denerim. I can access the Grey Wardens' secret cache there as well and bring back supplies for the Joining."

"I assume it's going to be you, Brytta, Daveth, Alistair and Morrigan then?" Loghain asked. "I… would like information from Denerim, but short of bringing an army with me, I can't get there."

"Forgive me, Warden-Commander, but how do you propose to disguise yourself?" Teagan asked pragmatically. "You are both a prominent and easily recognisable person."

"Cut my hair, lose the earring, and I won't be as recognisable," Duncan answered mildly.

"You'd need to lose Brytta as well," Teagan pointed out. "She's… ah… recognisable too."

Brytta forced her eyes open. "Can do… same… Most folks topside don't look at brands. They see dwarf."

"I know of dyes to change hair colour," Morrigan also added. "'Tis my opinion that if we must chase a myth, at least let us stay together. You will have Cailan and Loghain and your Fergus Cousland to make a King. _We_ do not have those worries."

"I'm going and the team I have selected remains with me," Duncan growled. "Loghain will need that information and those supplies if we should fall collecting the treaties."

"Very well," Teagan said with a sigh. "I offer the hospitality of Redcliffe Castle tonight, for both Warden and mage."

"Then I think you will understand if we make our way to our rest," Irving quavered as he leant on his staff. The mage looked every year of his age as Muirne silently packed up the magical equipment. Parean was too busy staring at Loghain to be paying attention until Irving coughed delicately. Then the slim blonde returned to her duties, still looking over her shoulder at Loghain.

"Why is she staring at Loghain?" Alistair asked his brother, voice slurring with exhaustion and full of confusion.

"I think she fancies him," Cailan replied cheerfully. "Lucky bastard."

Brytta would have said something about it to them except her legs decided to buckle as three days with only four hours' sleep kicked in and made her slide to the floor in sudden exhaustion.

…

Duncan used Brytta's falling asleep as an excuse to extract himself and the other Wardens from the political discussions; Cailan, bored, decided to join him though Loghain remained as general of the army.

"We can discuss these bloody ashes tomorrow," the Warden-Commander said, yawning until his jaw ached. "I'm tired."

"Maker willing, we'll actually sleep tonight," Alistair said.

"Sounds like you had a horrible time with those demons," Cailan said sympathetically. Then his blue eyes hardened. "Incidentally, I'm coming along to Denerim."

"…Why?" Alistair asked, blinking slowly.

"Because I'm a Grey Warden. I'm not the King to be coddled and protected. The more I'm seen with you, the more it becomes clear that I am a) alive and b) no longer King. If anyone asks me, I shall give my utter blessing to the Couslands to take the throne."

"…If you try to get into the Palace District and do something to Howe and/or Anora, I'll make you wish the ogre _had_ killed you," Duncan vowed grimly. He was too damned tired to argue with the young man and he thought it would be good for Alistair and Cailan to spend some family time together.

"You don't mince words, do you, Duncan?" Cailan asked, sounding disappointed.

"Now you're no longer King, I don't have to," Duncan replied, shifting the unconscious Brytta in his arms.

"Was I really that frustrating as King?"

_"Yes,"_ Alistair and Duncan answered in fervent unison.

Cailan winced. "I… understand. I won't go out of my way to do anything to Howe or Anora… But if there's a chance to strike that comes my way, I'll take it."

"That'll do. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to bed." Duncan hefted Brytta a bit more into his arms and went to the nearest guest room without further ado, the door closing behind him.

"Poor bastard. First decent bed and private room those two have and they're too tired to do anything," Cailan said casually.

"Maybe they're just waiting for the right time," Alistair said, blushing.

Cailan and Morrigan simply looked at each other and rolled their eyes. Then the berserker arched an eyebrow in silent invitation to the witch, who perused him slowly and openly.

"I'm… uh… going to bed now," Alistair said quickly as he retreated to another bedroom. If there was anything which made the ex-templar embarrassed about his brother, it was Cailan's open chasing of anything remotely female and attractive.

"We need to get that boy laid soon," Daveth observed cheerfully. Then he sighed mournfully. "Welp, I'm off to bed. Suppose it's me and my hand tonight."

"Do have fun," Cailan said absently as Morrigan's golden eyes caught his. It seemed like travelling to Denerim was _definitely_ a better option than staying here and listen to Loghain discuss boring strategies.

…

Brytta awoke to the sensation of her skin crawling with the need for a bath and a big body curled around hers, snoring contentedly. She'd welcomed that timeless black void of dwarven sleep and wondered how the humans and elves could stand entering the Fade…

The dwarf shuddered at the thought of the Fade and even that slight movement was enough to wake Duncan. The human rolled her over to face him, dark eyes warm and worried at the same time. "_MaHábba_," he whispered gently, lovingly, "Tell me what happened to you in the Fade."

She could no more disobey that soft husky tone as she could the rasp of his desire, the calm stoicism of the Warden-Commander or even the battlefield roar he occasionally unleashed. Brytta told him everything, her voice catching when she described having to kill a demon in his form, and finally ending in a fit of helpless weeping within that tight embrace. He really deserved somebody stronger than she…

"_MaHábba_," he whispered again, wiping her tears gently. "I had wondered why it was so easy to free myself from the sloth demon. They are fearsome enemies… and the last time one trapped me, it was only the intervention of King Maric that saved us all. This time it was you who allowed us to escape our nightmares… Well, except for Alistair. I had to order him out of his dream, poor lad."

Brytta managed a weak chuckle, leaning into that caress. "…What did the demon give you in your dream?" she finally ventured, making the human sigh.

"He gave me despair," Duncan admitted. "He gave the despair of seeing my Wardens dead and myself dying, the archdemon roaring in triumph as a Vanguard's axe descended towards my head." He paused and added, "The very first person to die in the dream was you."

"I shoulda killed that fucker twice!" Brytta said furiously.

"They are dead, _maHábba_, let it go," Duncan advised. "That is what I intend to do." But his dark eyes were haunted.

"It can't be that easy for you," Brytta retorted.

"No, it isn't easy. But I intend to do it anyways." Duncan's fingers trailed across her branded, scarred cheek. "Just as I intend, my little diamond, to take advantage of this bed and the bath and your hair still long and red before Morrigan does something horrible to it…"

His voice grew raspier with every word, dark eyes hot in that way she'd imagined for so long, ever since she'd first seen him still and calm in the Proving Commons… But _she_ would set the sequence of events. "Bath, then bed," she said firmly.

"Bath, then bed," he agreed, laughing softly as his lips descended to hers in a hard, quick kiss.

…

Arl Eamon's castle actually had a bathhouse with a hot spring attached; it was a simple thing to just don their dirty shirts and breeches, grab the Llomerryn soap, and head down to the room. Cailan and Morrigan were just leaving together, the ex-King grinning broadly and the witch looking pleased. Duncan suppressed a sigh as the berserker winked on his way out. _By the Maker and the djinn of the Fade, I shudder to think of what those two together will be like…_

"By the Stone-rotted tits of my mother's mothers, those two together are trouble waiting to happen," Brytta breathed, echoing his thoughts aloud. Duncan chuckled richly and kissed the top of her head. He would miss the messiness of her auburn curls, even when bound by a plaited headband and leather tie, but necessity drove him. The Warden-Commander needed the clever dwarven rogue with her talent for mechanics and persuasion to balance Daveth's knack for pickpocketing and stealth; Duncan needed Brytta to remind him of what he was fighting for.

It was hard to believe that two months ago he'd sought to stay distant from everything so he could perform his duty as required. But losing and then finding his little Dust Town diamond had taught him otherwise. Strength didn't lie in isolation and distance; it lay in connections, of friend and family and love, and the heart.

He knew that something had become brittle in Brytta since the Fade; hearing her confess to killing a demon wearing his face had been part of it. Perhaps Wynne's unsubtle commentary on the dangers of love combined with duty had something to do with it. But the assurance Brytta had once possessed in her own strength was crumbling under the weight of the constant trials she was facing. Perhaps she was even considering ending this for his sake because she didn't think she was strong enough to support him.

Duncan knew that if he fell, she would continue until the Blight was finished, though he suspected that she would also fling herself into the archdemon's maw in a final act of defiant, courageous, self-sacrificial suicide…

…He knew because he'd do the same. But if by chance he survived Brytta _and_ the archdemon, he would linger long as his Calling would permit to help any of the Warden survivors to rebuild the Order, and then slip into the shadows of the Deep Roads to die.

Brytta untucked herself from his arm and went straight to the bathtub within a little niche concealed by a canvas curtain. "Duncan…" Her mezzo-soprano voice was suddenly soft and unsteady.

"Yes, Brytta?" By the Maker, if she was about to say it was better they end this, he was going to show her quite thoroughly that it was _not_ and then he was going to give the _saaHira_ a piece of his mind.

"When you felt despair in the demon's dream… Was it because I died first?"

Duncan took a deep breath and sighed. "…No. It was because all of our sacrifices had been in vain."

The dwarf nodded. "…If my death would stop the archdemon, would you send me in?"

"…Yes." He smiled at the Duster. "Because I know you wouldn't have it any other way."

Then he turned the question on her. "If my death was to end the Blight and you survived, _maHábba_, would you endure or would you seek the Deep Roads far too soon for your Calling?"

Her jaw rippled and her beautiful eyes filled with tears. "…I would stay. Because it's what you would want of me and I couldn't go to the Stone disappointing you."

"…Good. I am content then." He pushed her into the bathing niche and closed the curtain behind them. "Never… ever… doubt your own strength, my little diamond."

And then he kissed her, lips hard and demanding and possessive, as tears flowed down both their faces.

…

Duncan's mouth devoured hers, his tongue duelled with hers, his hands convulsed on hair and fabric alike as he removed everything that covered her. Brytta was glad she'd left her ragged smallclothes behind because he would have ripped the fragile fabric apart. She really needed to scrape together the coppers for a new set…

He was kneeling, which allowed her to unbutton his shirt – a garment in much need of replacement, just like her clothing from Cloudfields – and his breeches. They kept on kissing and crying as they undressed each other. It was joy and sorrow and love combined… because they knew that one would sacrifice the other if needed and keep on going.

Duncan's hands were slippery with the soap he preferred, something which was much softer and kinder to her skin than the laundry soap she was used to, as he washed her gently. She lathered that long silver-threaded black hair she was going to miss, massaging his scalp like she would for Rica until he groaned in mingled arousal and relief from the tension they'd endured.

It seemed the mechanics of having sex with a human were far less complicated than she imagined; Duncan's clever fingers, deft for all their strength and thickness, brought her to climax before he picked her up and settled her slowly onto his length as he sat in the bath. Given her previous experiences had been either with Leske (who came far too quickly because he was usually drunk) and Beraht (when he demanded extra payment on the dirty work she'd done for him), this slow delicious slide was enough to make a loud moan bleeding from her lips.

And what did you know, a human's length wasn't as awkward as she'd imagined it to be! At that thought she laughed, clenching around Duncan until he growled with pleasure and began to thrust.

When it was all over, they washed each other again, and then grabbed towels instead of returning to their filthy clothing. Brytta needed to find a laundry and quickly…

As they were leaving, Daveth was coming out of one of the other bathing niches. "How come everyone else bar me and the Chantry boy are getting laid?" he asked.

Atrast Hjarta, who'd somehow snuck in with a bundle of fabric in her mouth, dropped it and barked. _Because you love wolves._

"Fuck you, mutt!" Daveth yelled, throwing a bar of soap at the little mabari, which she adroitly missed… and followed up with a disdainful whine.

_If two-legs won't mate with you, what makes you think _I_ will?_

Daveth retrieved the soap and exited the bathhouse, snarling Chasind curses, as Duncan and Brytta laughed themselves sick. When they were done, it turned out that the bundle of fabric were clean shirts and breeches and underclothes for the pair of them.

"Where did you get this?" Brytta asked the hound, a bit worried it might have been stolen. Not that them being stolen bothered her, only that explaining their presence to a pissed-off owner when the reputation of the Grey Wardens was already sullied might be awkward.

_Worried male two-legs with sick two-legs brother had them made,_ the dog barked. It was frightening how intelligent mabari were, unless the hounds were on your side.

"We'll thank Teagan before we go," Duncan assured the dog. "And thank you, Atrast Hjarta." He knelt to give the dog's ears a good scratching.

_Keep this mate,_ the little hound advised her human with a pointed bark.

"I'll do my best," Brytta solemnly promised as Duncan gave one of his deep chuckles and led her from the bathhouse once they were dressed.

…

"…Does the Joining make one smarter?" Loghain asked of Duncan once the Warden-Commander had informed him of Cailan's intended departure with them. "Because that's the most intelligent reason the boy's ever had for anything he's ever done."

"And perhaps it is because he has found his place," Sten of the Beresaad rumbled quietly. "There is contentment in knowing your function and serving it well."

"And what is your place?" Loghain asked the Kossith harshly. "You have admitted you are here to discover what the Blight is. Yet you have refused to inform us of when you are leaving. Why is that?"

"I… cannot. I have lost my soul." Sten's head hung in shame. "That is why I killed those farmers."

Duncan, who as Warden-Commander had received training in the peculiarities of many cultures, ah'ed softly. "Your sword."

Sten gave the Warden as much a startled look as the qunari could manage. "Yes… my sword."

"What's it look like?" Brytta piped up. "I heard at the Spoilt Princess that a bunch of qunari were attacked by darkspawn. Remember that scavenger?"

"Yes!" Duncan gave his little diamond a proud look as Sten focused that eerie violet gaze on her with a frightening intensity.

"The blade is large and bulky… The height of a human man. It has a braided design, representing the Qun, on its hilt; the edge is…"

_"Notched and jagged,"_ the dwarf repeated alongside the surprised qunari. "I happen to know where it is or a blade similar to it. Getting it out of the owner's hands might be an awkward thing though."

Teagan tossed a purse over to the startled dwarven woman. "Buy it from Dwyn. And keep the rest to resupply your group, Warden Brytta."

"…There's twenty sovereigns in here," Brytta said slowly. By common assent, she had assumed the position of group treasurer because of her knack for haggling and finding unique ways to resupply the Wardens. When the Blight was over and if Duncan survived, he would need to teach her the ciphering skills such a position required.

"Do you need more?" Teagan asked.

"…I've just never seen this much gold in one place unless it was Beraht counting his ill-gotten gains," Brytta replied with a shake of her head. Instead of her Grey Warden leathers, she now wore a set of Duster-style leather armour and had simply hacked off her auburn curls to the shoulders. Duncan could tell that she hated not wearing the Grey Warden uniform… Come to think of it, he felt naked in the light set of studded leathers given to him by Bann Teagan.

"I see." Teagan smirked. "Do you know Beraht tried to tell Dwyn what to do once?"

"What happened?" Knowing both the rapacious crime lord and the pragmatic merchant-warrior, Brytta already had a grin on her face.

"We discovered that Duster crime lords don't like being dunked in the lake."

Brytta howled with laughter alongside Duncan and Teagan, as even Loghain permitted himself a chuckle. "That was probably the only bath he'd ever had in his life!" the Duster girl told them before she tucked away the purse. "I'll be back soon, Sten. Ancestors willing you'll have your soul back."

"May the Qun make it so," the giant intoned as the girl left.


	11. Places

Note: Thanks for the reviews! Again, totally screwing with canon here because… well… I can. And I like the idea of Sten sticking around; he is one of my favourite companions. Besides… isn't the idea of a qunari Warden just awesome? :)

…

**Part 11: Places**

"Andraste's flaming tits."

Cailan's soft blasphemy was echoed by those of Daveth and Alistair as they entered the city of Denerim; even the mile-long camp full of ragged tents and shivering refugees hadn't prepared them for the reality of Ferelden's capital city. The marketplace was crowded with wretched, desperate people under the watchful glares of well-armoured thugs wearing Howe's bear device while men in the Arl of Denerim's device stood there helplessly. It hit the former King hard to see the misery wrought by his own stupidity in allowing Anora to run the country and trusting Howe.

He looked over his shoulder at the others: Duncan's face was impassive but a hint of anger glittered in his dark eyes; Morrigan was contemptuous, no doubt of the refugees' inability to fend for themselves; and Brytta looked unsurprised by the squalor. Cailan supposed that to a Duster this would be normal.

"We need to do something about this," he hissed to Duncan. "This… it can't stand!"

"And how do you suppose to stop the inevitable chaos that will erupt after you've killed them?" Duncan asked grimly. "You are no longer King, Cailan."

"Not to mention the fact that if it was discovered Grey Wardens slaughtered Howe, our already-shaky reputation would be sullied beyond repair," Alistair added with a sigh.

Cailan swore again. "There must be _something_ we can do."

"I'd bet dust to diamonds that folk like this Howe's got enemies," Brytta said suddenly. "And I bet he's the sort to skim and steal where he can."

The little Duster grinned. "And I think you should make your presence known in whatever passes for the best tavern and whorehouse in this place. Once gossip spreads that you're alive and in the company of Grey Wardens… That might give potential allies the guts to come forward."

"Our first priority is to find Brother Genitivi and access the Grey Wardens' cache," Duncan insisted. "_If_ we can find the time and do so safely, we will find ways to disrupt Howe's power."

"Very well," Cailan agreed, admittedly with ill grace. He'd only thought of the freedom he now possessed as a Warden, not of the void left in his absence as King.

Alistair, the half-brother he'd never known, gave his shoulder a sympathetic squeeze. Anora, the bitch, had always watched the bastard from afar as a potential threat… But now Cailan wished his father had raised Alistair alongside him. It would have been nice to have somebody to trust as a King.

_Oh well, at least I have people I can trust as a Warden,_ Cailan thought as he gave Morrigan a smile. Now _there_ was a woman who was completely shameless about her needs and desires who actually wanted him for him, not because he was King. She was very skilled in bed too and seemed to genuinely appreciate his talent there…

"By the way, if anyone wants to visit the Pearl, the whores are on me!" he announced, much to Daveth's glee, Morrigan's raised eyebrow and Alistair's blush. Duncan gave an aggrieved sigh, only to be patted on the back by his little dwarven lover.

"We don't have-" the Warden-Commander began, but Brytta tugged his hand until he knelt, and whispered something in his ear. Duncan sighed again and nodded reluctantly before standing up again. "We'll see, Cailan. Let's find out some news first, hmm?"

"Very well…" Cailan grinned. He _would_ visit the Pearl… But the people coming with him were also the ones most likely to engage in his brand of mayhem against Arl Howe…

_Glorious!_

…

"This… is… _awkward._"

Duncan had just opened the door to the warehouse containing the Grey Wardens' cache when they'd surprised nine men in Howe's bear device guarding sturdy chests. They looked at the Grey Wardens in shock before springing into violence. The fight was short, brutal and totally one-sided despite Duncan and Brytta being outnumbered; these were hardly Howe's 'elite', only hired mercenary thugs. Within five minutes the warehouse was splattered with blood and the Grey Wardens in possession of six solid bars of silver, two sovereigns in coin, and a number of replacement weapons in addition to the supplies secreted here.

That, however, wasn't the awkward part. The awkward bit was Cailan, Morrigan, Alistair and Daveth entering from the rooftop with murder in mind for the guards below… Only to be deprived of their… entertainment. "Gimme a sec; I'll let Slim know the job's done!" Daveth said cheerfully, only to be pinned by a direct look from Duncan.

Brytta wished she had some fried nug bits. This was going to be _fun_ to watch.

"We… ah… found some… _extra_ methods to raise the tithes we need to combat the Blight… and disrupt Howe's plans at the same time," Cailan said, shuffling his feet awkwardly like a kid in trouble. "It appears, amongst other things, that both the League of Honest Businessmen and the Antivan Crows are… _short-handed._ And we have mutual enemies with them."

Brytta silently held out her hand for the coin they'd earned and grumbling, Cailan handed the six sovereigns over. She pocketed four and tossed two back, the berserker catching them adroitly.

"Go to the Pearl," Duncan commanded, "There's a band of mercenaries there who've settled in and are giving the madam trouble. In return for his silence, Lieutenant Kylon's asked us to deal with some back-alley troublemakers and some of Howe's more… unruly… people."

"Paedan's there too," Alistair mused; it was a surprise to see the straitlaced Chantry boy going along with working for organised criminals and assassins, but he was very easily persuaded into… trouble.

"Then 'tis best we go," Morrigan said coolly. "'Tis expected you two will find Genitivi and dispose of the spoils from this slaughter?"

"We got a clue on Genitivi's whereabouts; turns out he was kidnapped and his assistant murdered to be replaced by an imposter," Brytta replied bluntly as she began to pick up anything remotely useful. "Duncan and I achieved our primary goal while you lot were entertaining yourselves."

"Good. I wager we'll be finished up by tomorrow and can leave the morning after," Cailan said with superficial cheer, though his blue eyes burned with the berserker's rage. The former King had been pissed by the state of Denerim and only Duncan's direct command had kept him from heading up to the Palace District and slaughtering everyone between him and Howe and Anora.

"I will hold you to that," Duncan said flatly. The Warden-Commander's dark eyes were full of exasperation at the foursome's actions even as he understood the necessity.

"Wonderful! We'll go to the whorehouse and the back alleys while you two have a quiet evening together."

Cailan only just managed to miss Duncan's expertly hurled boot, stripped from one of Howe's men, as he headed out the doorway.

…

"He is just smart enough to be dangerous and charismatic enough to get everyone else into trouble," Duncan observed with a sigh as he rubbed his shaven chin. He felt like a peeled egg with his long hair cropped short and his famous beard gone, but necessity overruled personal preference.

"I can't complain at the cash he's raised… and Cesar will be able to launder these silver bars," Brytta pointed out as she handed the Warden-Commander a bag full of scavenged things. "I think we should take the armour from this scum and trade it with Herren; he has little love for Howe since the guy stiffed him on a bill for Wade's best work."

"Good idea…" Duncan sighed again. He disliked this detour from the duty of gathering treaties but he also knew Arl Eamon's support was necessary.

"I also think we should go to Lake Calenhad to see if anything else can be found out on these people who took Genitivi," Brytta suggested. "I'd hate to walk into the Frostbacks unprepared."

His little diamond was a smart one… and the destination was on the way to Redcliffe to drop off certain items and information for Loghain. Duncan smiled at her gently and took his pack. Since most of the people who actually _knew_ Duncan were in the Palace District, he'd remained mostly unrecognised. Interestingly, there were rumours of Cailan's ghost haunting ne'er-do-wells and Howe's scum to death.

Duncan grinned, feeling like the sixteen-year-old thief who'd been hauled off the gallows by Genevieve. He might be exasperated by Cailan's actions and thought processes but he couldn't deny the mayhem the berserker had raised was distracting the Arl rather nicely…

"Incidentally, Cloudfields isn't too far away from Haven," he murmured to the little Duster as they left the warehouse. "Think we should stop off there and resupply?"

"By the Stone, yes!" Brytta said enthusiastically. She gave Duncan a sly look. "I imagine Mhuir would be very interested to know what's going on, wouldn't you agree?"

"Knowing Mhuir, she'll take full credit!" Duncan agreed with a laugh.

"Good. Let's get this shit sold and ourselves resupplied. And then maybe we can take advantage of our privacy at camp…"

Duncan had to agree with that idea too.

…

Sten of the Beresaad cleaned Asala carefully to make certain that she was untainted by the hands of a _bas_. The dwarven Grey Warden had been good as her word, delivering the sword to him within hours of her promise; he was in debt to those who fought the Blight… and wondered how the collection of misfits would fit into the ways of the Qun.

The craggy-faced, dark-haired human called Loghain was clearly a general and in charge of the army gathered to combat both the Blight and the one known as Howe. Yet he was not Arishok, instead answering to the dark-skinned Rivaini Duncan in all things related to the Grey Wardens. From the way he fought on foot, perhaps he was a Karasten or 'Warden-Second' as Sten had heard him named by the other Wardens when not addressed directly by name.

Duncan was called 'Warden-Commander', the leader of Ferelden's Grey Wardens, who answered to their First Warden in the Anderfels. He was mostly a quiet man who rarely asserted his authority unless challenged – like Loghain had once – yet was clearly deferred to by the other Wardens. But he deferred to Loghain as a superior strategist. Apparently he was also close to death… or 'the Calling', as the Grey Wardens named it. Sten gathered that the process which somehow granted the Wardens their ability to sense darkspawn and heightened endurance and stamina also shortened their lives and drove them into the Deep Roads. It was a sacrifice the Kossith could respect; Duncan appeared to be Ben-Hassrath of the Wardens as he maintained the unity of the group and disciplined those who strayed.

Cailan, the former King, was a pure Karashok, an infantry warrior, who appeared most content to be free of the unwanted burden of being a leader. He was closest to the Qun, Sten felt, as he was glad to serve his function and had found joy in being a Grey Warden. Interestingly enough, his brother Alistair, who was an Arvaarad (called a 'templar' in Ferelden), was also content in his place as a Warden. As Sten understood it, he'd been sent to the human Viddathlok as a way of keeping him from challenging Cailan's position. Stupid; the brothers were stronger together as a unit and should have been raised together under the Tamassrans as proper.

Sten didn't know why he expected common sense from these Fereldans; they knew not of the Qun and he wasn't one to instruct them otherwise.

Morrigan the unleashed saarebas was the most dangerous; interestingly enough the Karashok Cailan mated with her. Perhaps he was Arvaarad like his brother and able to keep her leashed in subtle ways? Or maybe the taint which flowed through their veins was better than any leash. Still, it wouldn't hurt to remove her tongue just in case.

Daveth was likely the Tallis of the company with his knack for sneaking around and the wolf he'd tamed. Or maybe Viddathari since he was irreverent and had no idea of his place. Sten disliked being unable to assign even a tentative place to the people he was dealing with since he'd accompanied the Wardens. It made him uneasy.

The dwarven Grey Warden Brytta was another complicated challenge. She was a warrior yet claimed to be a woman. She acted as Armaas and Ashkaari for the Wardens, organising the filling of their material needs and finding things for them. Yet she also had a talent for making jewellery. Sten had heard her described as 'casteless', a dwarf whose ancestors had been removed from dwarven society; she had also apparently humiliated the entire Warrior Caste of her people in one day, for which Duncan had recruited her. She'd returned his soul and he owed her the most.

Of all things, Sten was most uncertain of his place amongst these people. Loghain was wise enough to consider him a potential spy (which was technically true as Sten's report to the Arishok would include pertinent military details) but the rest of the Wardens appeared to… trust him. Maybe because there was a mutual enemy they shared or because they were technically outside politics.

Duncan and Brytta returned to the camp they'd up just north of Denerim, leaving Sten to watch over it as he was too conspicuous as a Kossith. The human and the dwarf were mated to each other but rarely indulged in it; Sten had to admit that Brytta's dog Atrast Hjarta was a good conversational partner. The hound had been left behind, much to her displeasure, and was only appeased by beef bones Brytta gave her.

"Sten, we need to talk." Duncan's voice was grave and stern; the Warden-Commander passing judgment. The Kossith kept Asala to hand; there was tension crackling in the air, expectation from the human.

"What about?" Sten asked.

"It has come to my attention that you have likely discovered Grey Warden secrets we need to keep to ourselves, or at least figured out enough to make some very educated guesses." Duncan's gaze was mild but his body coiled and ready for violence. "Yet you are strong, relentless and implacable; the sort of warrior we need in the Grey Wardens."

Brytta came up with a bone-white cup filled with something which smelt both acrid and coppery, like blood made acid. It smelt like Warden blood, like the taint of the darkspawn. Sten, no fool, knew exactly what they intended to do.

"So I have the choice of becoming such as you or dying then," the Kossith replied calmly.

"Yes. There has never been a qunari Warden before. If the darkspawn capture kossith women, they make them into broodmothers that give birth to… ogres." Duncan's voice was stern and implacable, the Ben-Hassrath passing judgment.

"There is no position within the Qun that describes a Grey Warden," Sten admitted. "I have found myself having trouble trying to fit you all into it."

"Being a Warden's like being qunari, I think," Duncan said meditatively. "We take anybody capable of fighting the darkspawn, put them through the Joining, and then hone the survivors into peerless weapons. Like the darkspawn horde and its myriad subspecies, we each fill a purpose – some of us more than one."

"Interesting," Sten rumbled. "Why do I have a feeling this was decided upon long ago?"

"Loghain is our general; he saw you as a threat, especially since you slaughtered those farmers. You are useful, but by your very nature an agent of the Arishok's who could bring back sensitive information." Duncan sighed regretfully but pitilessly. "I would hate to kill one with the dedication and strength to fight the darkspawn, but I will not hesitate to do so. If you wish to die as Sten of the Beresaad, I will respect that choice."

Sten… didn't know what to say. The Tamassrans had never prepared him for such a situation. But these Wardens had returned his soul to him… and once Duncan had explained what the Wardens were to a certain extent he could see the similarities. Yet it was confusing. He was unafraid of death… And he didn't doubt that Duncan could murder him easily. The human was the most lethal warrior he'd ever met, perhaps even equal to the Arishok.

But these Wardens were offering more than just a tainted cup. He saw the easiness between them, much like a unit within the qunari, and he found that he missed that. They simply accepted him (well, but for Loghain, and as a general it was his duty to be suspicious of foreign soldiers).

"I cannot return to Seheron, can I?" Sten asked with as much grief as he dared show.

Duncan shrugged. "I cannot say. Perhaps as a Grey Warden emissary accompanied by others. But I'm afraid you cannot return to the qunari."

"Then give me the cup. If I cannot return home, at least I may still serve a purpose."

Brytta obliged him and Sten drank it down with one gulp as the dwarf spoke words of ritual. _"Join us, brothers and sisters. Join us in the shadows where we stand vigilant. Join us as we carry the duty that cannot be forsworn. And should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten. And that one day we shall join you."_

Sten was unexpectedly moved by the words just before he fell into a waking nightmare of blood and fire and a screaming dragon who could only be an archdemon.

He came to with Brytta dribbling water into his mouth, her scarred, branded face wry with humour. "That shit tastes awful," she said sympathetically.

"Welcome, Sten, to the Grey Wardens. Know that until the day of your death, you will never be alone. You are of the Grey now and have brothers and sisters to support you." Duncan smiled as the Kossith struggled to his feet without aid from the smaller Wardens. "We are glad to have you along."

"Thank you," Sten replied as he bowed his head. If the Ben-Hassrath of the Wardens named him Sten, then Sten he still remained.

"We bought some cookies to celebrate!" Brytta said, grinning broadly as she produced a small bag full of the sugary crumbly bread-things Sten had come to appreciate. Atrast Hjarta whined plaintively and the dwarf handed her one with a grin, earning a happy bark from the dog.

Sten cracked a slight smile. Perhaps the Grey Wardens were not of the Qun… _yet_… but he could show them the way by performing his duty. And perhaps he could finally figure out their places in the world.

And he had to admit that the cookies were an excellent reason to stay with them.


	12. Enemies

Note: Thanks for the reviews and favourites. I hope no one was freaked out by Warden!Sten; that little plot nug snuck up on me. I will also explore the intersections between the Noble and Commoner Dwarven Origins… *evil grin* Characters from my other stories will be either mentioned in passing or have very brief cameos; it saves on world-building… LOL. More Duncan/Brytta spiciness. :) I'm also going to assume that the Surface Caste dwarves keep in regular contact with each other, so that's how Brytta and Rica were able to send each other messages and keep each other up to date until Orzammar was locked down.

…

**Part 12: Enemies**

"You've picked a good time to return, Duncan," Fergus Cousland said dryly as the Grey Wardens entered Redcliffe Castle's Great Hall to update Bann Teagan on their search for the Urn of Sacred Ashes. The auburn-haired man stood awkwardly by the fire, warming his hands as the sounds of a mighty argument between Loghain and somebody else Duncan knew very well filled the chilly air. The Warden-Commander sighed, gave Brytta and Alistair instructions to fill Teagan in, and went into the next room to confront the arguing duo.

_"Enough!"_ he roared, making the battle-hardened Loghain and Riordan, Senior Warden of Jader and commander of the Orlesian Grey Warden garrison nearest to Ferelden, fall silent and stare at him in shock. The hallway's third occupant, a fair-haired dwarven woman in grey iron plate, smirked until Duncan directed a particularly chilly gaze at her accompanied by a curt command to leave. She obeyed, grudgingly, and Duncan knew that she'd be the _next_ headache to deal with.

"It's good to see you, _mon ami_," Riordan said with a smile, recovering first. "If only we didn't have to deal with a Blight for me to pay a visit, hmm?"

"This… _Orlesian_… told me I should be turning the army south and not northeast to deal with Howe!" Loghain spat in fury. "He attempted to _command_ me as Senior Warden of Jader!"

Duncan gave an aggrieved sigh. "Riordan, this is no ordinary situation: Rendon Howe has declared the Grey Wardens rogue and put a price on our heads because we supposedly slew Loghain and Cailan."

"That is… awkward, _mon ami,_ but surely we should be focusing on the Blight, not any civil war… and the Grey Wardens shouldn't be leading a rebel army," Riordan pointed out reasonably. "Loghain, and Cailan if I understand it correctly, are Grey Wardens now. They have no place in politics."

"Except we will need the support of Ferelden to fight it," Duncan said quietly. "Old friend, I have left Loghain in charge of the army because he is a general. And should the rest of us fall in gathering the treaties, Loghain has the knowledge and will have the materials to make more of us. But political neutrality is _not_ an option until Rendon Howe is dead."

Riordan sighed. "I have brought a recruit with me from my journeys to the Deep Roads. How many Wardens do you have left?"

"Eight, including myself and Loghain," Duncan replied quietly. "Cailan, who's berserker-trained; his brother Alistair, who's a templar; Morrigan, an apostate mage and daughter of Flemeth; Daveth, our pickpocket and scout; Brytta, our quartermaster and mechanics expert; and Sten, a qunari scout and warrior."

"Hmm… Not as bad as I feared," Riordan mused as Loghain raised an eyebrow at the listing of Sten amongst the Wardens. "I would feel easier if the Jader garrison was here though."

"As would I," Duncan answered, looking at Loghain, "But it won't happen. Not while Howe and Anora are bottling up the north."

Loghain's jaw tensed and his eyes hardened, but the general remained silent for now. Duncan was sympathetic to the grief the man was going through, but he couldn't spare the Hero of the River Dane's feelings.

"We could bring them through the Deep Roads," Riordan pointed out.

"And justify Ferelden's fear of an invasion? Maker's breath and djinn's mercy, Riordan, we're going to have to make do with what we've got." Duncan growled in frustration as Loghain relaxed subtly and Riordan frowned.

"You are too fond of Fereldan sensibilities, Duncan," the Orlesian observed.

"And you are too eager to bring foreign troops into a land which is still recovering from the _last_ time Orlesians were here," Loghain grated. "I tolerate your presence because the Warden-Commander has requested it. Do not ask for more."

"Loghain is Warden-Second of Ferelden, answerable only to me and the First Warden, and your equal, Riordan," Duncan said with another frustrated growl. "This isn't like the other Blights where we had the support of a half-dozen nations. We are literally trying to keep ourselves alive long enough to await the archdemon's rising to the surface and then kill the bastard of a thing."

Riordan matched Duncan's growl with one of his own. "I will cede to your judgment… for the moment. But _my_ Warden-Commander, the High Constable, the Black Griffin and the First Warden will make their own decisions and assign Wardens accordingly."

"In Denerim I was able to send pigeons to the garrisons at Ansberg, Wycome and Diarsmuid," Duncan assured Riordan as Loghain raised an eyebrow. "Stroud and Tariq are notoriously indifferent to politics… and Rennio has better things to do than try to conquer Ferelden. He regularly calls it 'that Maker-forsaken shithole of a barbarian land', and his sister is married to a Fereldan!"

"…Thank you for respecting Fereldan 'sensibilities'," Loghain finally told Duncan. "Perhaps even Howe, should we fall, will see Antivan, Free Marcher and Rivaini Wardens as no threat to our independence."

"We cannot allow sentimentality," Riordan said grimly. "…But you are Warden-Commander, _mon ami._ I can't argue with that."

"Wonderful," Duncan growled. "Now tell me how the fuck Sereda Aeducan survived the Deep Roads?"

Riordan sighed. "She joined up with the Legion of the Dead until they reached me. Then I found myself with a recruit. She has the combat skill, Duncan."

"She also has the trustworthiness of a snake," Duncan replied flatly. "I suppose she is now my problem?"

"Yes…" Riordan suddenly grinned and Duncan resisted the urge to punch his oldest living friend in the face. "Isn't one of your recruits related to the noble-hunter Bhelen Aeducan's shacked up with?"

"Brytta is Rica's sister, yes," Duncan said cautiously. "Is there a point to this aside from the fact Bhelen played Sereda for a fool?"

"Oh. I just think you are in for some interesting times," Riordan said. "Bhelen's whore's sister and the princess he betrayed in the same garrison…"

"Brytta is senior to Sereda and I will make that fact abundantly clear," Duncan rasped.

"Try not to get caught in the middle of a catfight, _mon ami,_" Riordan advised shrewdly. "Even if you are… fond… of Brytta."

"I'd trust Brytta over an Aeducan any day," Loghain retorted.

_"Enough!"_ Duncan roared again. "If Sereda dies in the Joining, it's all moot."

"Don't count on being that lucky, Duncan," Loghain advised with an echo of his legendary dry humour. "The Maker's not that kind."

…

"Sereda Aeducan. Maker's breath, what did we do to deserve her?"

Cailan was tending to his dragonbone greatsword as Daveth fletched some arrows and Sten criticised the pair of them. Brytta, busy counting out the seventeen or so sovereigns left for any resupply they needed, tried to ignore the fact that the bitch that had her sister thrown out of the Royal Palace once was now going to be her sister in the Grey. It had been the former King who'd made that pronouncement with a distasteful tone to his light tenor. Cailan, the Duster decided, was an excellent judge of character.

"'We need all the Wardens we can get'." Morrigan quoted Duncan in a bored, sing-song tone. "I take it this woman is an… unpleasant… individual?"

"She's power-hungry, ambitious and an exiled princess," Cailan told his lover bluntly. "Not to mention quite… classist."

"She had my sister literally tossed out of Bhelen's chambers by her flunky Gorim," Brytta added flatly. "I'll tolerate her for Duncan's sake. No more."

"How kind of you," observed a well-enunciated contralto which might have been pleasant if not for the sneer laced through its dulcet tones.

"You are the new Warden Viddathari then?" Sten rumbled as he rose to tower over the blonde buxom dwarf.

"Vidda-what?" Sereda demanded, blue eyes widening on seeing the Kossith.

"Warden-Recruit. Junior Warden Sten just likes to give the ranks Qunari titles," Cailan answered with chilly politeness. "Amongst the Wardens, seniority typically depends on what order you took the Joining in."

"I… see." The exiled princess didn't look amused. "So I am… Warden-Recruit Aeducan?"

"Warden-Recruit Sereda. Your family name means nothin' now," Daveth said with just a hint of cheerful malice. The scout tended to enjoy ribbing Cailan and even Loghain about the loss of their nobility. Cailan found it amusing. Loghain punched him in the jaw during training practice once.

The black-haired man gestured to everyone gathered in the room in order of seniority. "The lad mendin' his shield is Warden-Ensign Alistair. He's effectively Warden-Commander Duncan's second in the field; Loghain is Warden-Second officially, mostly because of his skill, not the order he took his Joinin' in. Then it's me, Morrigan an' Brytta; we took our Joinin' together. I'm the scout, Morrigan's our mage, an' Brytta's the quartermaster. Then it's Cailan, who's our muscle, an' Sten, who's the most junior Warden." He grinned. "An' then there's you, provided you survive the Joinin'."

Sereda didn't look pleased to be informed that she was at the bottom of the informal pecking order within the Grey Wardens. "So ability counts for nothing then?"

"'Tis of little concern when each of us has our own unique skillset to offer," Morrigan advised the ex-princess. "I, for instance, can shapeshift."

"Berserker," Cailan offered cheerfully. "And Loghain is a general."

"Wilderness scout an' pickpocket," Daveth added with a grin.

"Templar," Alistair, hitherto silent, said quietly.

"Persuasion and mechanics," Brytta told Sereda flatly.

"Warrior and tactician," Sten rumbled. "What can you do, Viddathari, so we might know where best to place you?"

Brytta refrained from making a smartarse suggestion about Sereda's main talents being arrogance, bitchiness and sucking at politics. She would try to tolerate the nug-licker for Duncan's sake.

"I can fight. I can lead. And I can rule," Sereda replied proudly. "I survived the Deep Roads."

"Only because you ran into Riordan, from what I hear," Cailan pointed out. "And rulership skills mean nothing in the Grey Wardens. I will accept that you can fight; it remains to be seen if you can lead."

"So… you value a casteless whore more than an Aeducan princess?" Sereda demanded icily.

"I'm not a whore and you're not a princess anymore," Brytta answered coldly. Then she grinned evilly. "Tell me… Has the Warrior Caste recovered from my utter humiliation of it yet?"

Sereda's face darkened dangerously. "Tell me, brand, how many times did you have to spread your legs to even get into a position to gain the attention of the Warden-Commander?"

"Enough." Brytta flushed with shame as Duncan's voice cut off her retort. The Warden-Commander still hadn't the opportunity to bathe like the rest of them had and he was looking quite frustrated. "I know it is hard to be asked to leave personal issues behind when you join the Grey Wardens, but do it you must. If Sereda survives the Joining, you two will be sisters in the Grey."

"Yes, Warden-Commander," the Duster said, bowing her head and inwardly kicking herself for letting her temper get the better of her.

"Of course… Warden-Commander." Sereda's acquiescence was slow in coming and reluctant besides.

"I will give you an hour to settle your mind. Then you will undertake the Joining, Sereda. Do you have any questions?"

"None, Warden-Commander," Sereda answered through gritted teeth. "If you will excuse me, I'd like to be alone."

"Be our guest," Cailan said curtly as he returned to tending his greatsword.

Once Sereda was gone, Sten rumbled his discontent. "She is not willing and causes disunity," the Kossith said. "And I am not certain she is worthy of being a Viddathari amongst the Wardens."

"Her survival skills are impressive, Sten, and I can vouch that she is a competent fighter," Duncan argued with a sigh. "I do admit that if it weren't a Blight, I would simply allow her to go her own way upon the surface. But we need every sword we can get."

"She insulted the Armaas of the Grey Wardens," Sten retorted. The Kossith respected those who refused to back down in an argument. Brytta actually liked him – even if he insisted she wasn't a woman.

Duncan's jaw tensed and Brytta hung her head again. She should have kept her yap shut about Sereda's treatment of Rica. "She will be of the Grey if she survives the Joining, Sten."

"When she is executed for failure, I will inform you – again – that you were wrong," Sten conceded with poor grace. Cailan chuckled, the sound cut off by Duncan's glare.

"We ride on the morrow for the Frostback Mountains," Duncan commanded. "Daveth, Morrigan: I want you two to make certain our tents are in good repair and we have the furs and leathers we will need. Sten, Alistair: you two are in charge of packing. Cailan, you will be doing whatever the other four tell you to do. Atrast Hjarta: I advise you go hunting. If you can bring back some extra meat, I would be grateful. Brytta, once we are done with Sereda's Joining, you are to go through our supplies, get rid of what we don't need and replace what we do."

The others exited the room, leaving Brytta scuffling her feet like a naughty child as Duncan paced around, every line of his powerful body frustrated. "Riordan wants me to take Sereda with us… But I intend to ignore him. Loghain may have the pleasure of dealing with her; she'll be an excellent second for him and because she knows politics…" He growled in exasperation.

"I'm sorry if I caused any trouble again, Warden-Commander," Brytta told him contritely.

He turned back to look at her, dark eyes softening a little. "Ah, my little diamond. Your big mouth is one of the many reasons I love you."

"I love you too, Duncan," the Duster whispered. "I'll… try and be polite to her. For you."

Her beloved smiled, and for that expression, Brytta could endure almost anything. Probably even Sereda Aeducan.

…

Loghain's reaction to discovering he would be saddled with Sereda was short, pithy and creatively obscene. Duncan wasn't even sure that physical position was possible with a human, let alone a parrot, a dead fish and a cheese grater. Riordan had been less than impressed himself until Duncan had pointed out that Cailan also knew Sereda from his life as King… and none of the other people in the part-Rivaini's group were thrilled about it.

Brytta had defiantly donned her Grey Warden leathers again and bound back her shaggy mane of auburn curls with a blue silk scarf she'd pickpocketed in Denerim. Duncan had noticed how she'd deflated a little when in the Duster leathers… She _loved_ being a Warden. Much like Alistair or Cailan; Morrigan was with the Wardens for her own purposes, Daveth was still on the slightly amoral side, and Sten because he perceived it as his new purpose. But Brytta had found her life within the Grey and embraced it wholeheartedly.

Brytta, with some creative accounting and leaning heavily on Owen's goodwill for rescuing his daughter, had managed to outfit Cailan in steel heavy plate and Alistair in veridium splintmail; Daveth still kept the dwarven breastplate she'd gotten from Owen but added light steel vambraces and leggings to it. Sten's exotic armour was in excellent condition and Morrigan had donned her Grey Warden robes with nary a complaint, for a change.

They set out for Cloudfields the next morning just before dawn, Duncan glad to be free of the army once more. He found himself getting testy with Riordan and the constant irritant of Sereda; he shuddered to think of what collecting the treaty from the dwarves would entail if some of the disturbing rumours about Orzammar being closed down were true…

Brytta was digging latrines again as self-imposed punishment for mouthing off at Sereda. Sten had appointed himself the main camp guard while Daveth and Morrigan set themselves to hunting. Cailan and Alistair just did whatever they were told to do.

It was night somewhere west of Lake Calenhad near Sulcher's Pass when Duncan found Brytta sitting by herself, staring into the small spring which trickled from a small overhang into a pool that was barely big enough to wash one's face in. Nevertheless the dwarven woman had stripped and given herself a wipe-down with a wet rag to cleanse the dust and grime of travel from her skin. Despite the chill she was still naked as she brooded, absently braiding bits of autumn-dried grass into string.

"Silver for your thoughts?" Duncan asked as he came up behind her. Since Sereda had survived her Joining, Brytta had become less talkative than was her wont, almost to the point of surliness.

"You'd be getting ninety-eight bits in change," the Duster replied as she shredded the grass-string she'd made.

"I doubt that." Duncan sat down behind Brytta so that his legs bracketed her and she could rest her back against his chest. "You've been… silent lately. What's on your mind?"

"Necessity and sacrifice," she whispered. "How much… we need to endure… to see this Blight through."

"Is Sereda's presence in the Grey Wardens, even at a distance, that bad?" Duncan asked worriedly.

"She's the epitome of everything I despise about the Noble Caste. When she had Rica removed from Bhelen's chambers that day, all she had to do was tell my sister to leave. But instead she had Gorim physically drag her out and tossed into the dust of the street outside. My sister's lace dress was ruined. Beraht… demanded 'extra payment' to replace it and for any bribes needed to cover the… _offence_… Rica may have caused. The only reason she was allowed back in the Palace was because of Bhelen's direct orders she return."

Duncan had learnt enough about Beraht to know the 'extra payment' demanded would have likely been sexual in nature and probably from both Brosca sisters. The dark-skinned human found himself wishing he'd had the opportunity to murder the dwarven crime lord himself. He began to rub Brytta's arms soothingly, pressing his lips to the crown of her head.

"And now I have to embrace her as a sister in the Grey. I could do it, I think, if she just showed some fucking remorse and respect. But to her, being a Grey Warden means the chance for influence in Orzammar and the hope for vengeance against Bhelen. Do you know Sereda had a minor noble murdered for insulting the work of a scholar who was favoured by her father… and let it be known publicly? She then took the scholar's gold and accepted a hefty bribe from one of House Dace to claim that surface dwarves should be allowed to keep their caste. It is power and vengeance she wants, Duncan, and she will use and abuse everything she can to achieve that. Including the Grey Wardens."

"I… am surprised you know this much," Duncan finally said.

Brytta's laugh was bitter. "The Surface Caste keeps each other informed and because I'm a Grey Warden, I get most of the news. I've been able to pass messages to my sister Rica… but Dwyn told me in Redcliffe that Orzammar's locked down because King Endrin's dead."

Duncan sighed sorrowfully. He'd liked Endrin immensely; the dwarven King was one of the few he could call friend outside of the Grey Wardens. "May the Stone give him rest… So Bhelen's right to the throne is contested, from the sounds of it. Of all the times…!"

"I know. And when we go to Orzammar, Sereda will insist on coming with us, and we'll have no good reason to not let her join us. And we will be tools to the Aeducans' hands, ones which will cause rumours to start: if we support Bhelen, then _obviously_ I'm using my influence over you because my sister's borne his heir. But if we support whoever's contesting the throne, then that means I have to stand aside and let my sister, the person who I sold pieces of my soul to Beraht for, suffer the consequences of Sereda's actions. Because she won't put the Blight ahead of vengeance… and you know that."

"I do… We will cross that river when we come to it, Brytta. First we must get to Haven and find the Ashes and heal Arl Eamon…" Duncan cupped Brytta's breasts with large, callused hands, allowing his thumbs to stroke her nipples into hard little nubs.

He could never get used to how well they fitted together when they made love despite the differences in size; Duncan slid inside her after a long, melancholy period of foreplay, closing his eyes at how much like _home_ she felt. She smelt of rosemary and laurels and dust, a scent he could never get enough of.

"We can endure, _maHábba_, because we must. The woman who survived Beraht and won the Provings and came back to me from Ostagar can endure anything. Even Sereda Aeducan."

Duncan forced himself to sound confident despite the twinge in his chest at the thought of the dwarven princess trying to use the Grey Wardens as a method to get to Bhelen. He respected the dwarven prince and regretted the necessity of remaining neutral; Bhelen was an arsehole by definition of being a dwarven noble, but he also knew that Orzammar had to change or the dwarves would die out.

All he could do was try to keep out of politics and get the treaty fulfilled. Did the Wardens of previous Blights have to suffer through this amount of shit to defeat the archdemon? Duncan doubted it. It was just bad luck and the disfavour of the djinn that all this crap landed in his lap whilst he was Warden-Commander.

Duncan rarely prayed but tonight as he held Brytta close and listened to her fall into sleep before carrying her back to camp, he began to do so.

_Maker and the djinn of the Fade. Please… let this Blight be over quickly and with as few lives lost as may be permitted. And if I must be the sacrifice to do so, I offer my life freely. I thank you for whatever joy you have given me in my old age with Brytta. I ask for nothing else._

"_In peace, vigilance. In war, victory. In death, sacrifice." I think they ought to add a fourth part to our motto: "In dealing with morons, patience. In putting up with them, endurance." Damn Howe for his treachery and damn Endrin for dying because he actually loved the little bitch he called his daughter… And fucking well damn Guy for having that blasted ring and Genevieve for dragging me into this shit to begin with…_

Duncan made a noise between a growl and a sigh as he wrapped Brytta in a spare wolf-fur blanket and went to take second watch from Alistair. He almost wished the archdemon would just show up here and now so he and the Wardens could finish it and then get the fuck out of politics altogether. He was exhausted, mentally and physically, and his body liked to remind him of his age on nights like this.

But he would endure like Brytta would. They were Grey Wardens. Necessity and sacrifice compelled them to keep on going no matter what heartbreak or soul-ache or physical agony they faced.

Why did it have to hurt so much though and why did he feel so helpless?


	13. Respite

Note: Thanks for the reviews! Sorry for taking so long; I ran a mage playthrough with Shale. I'm figuring that Haven and Cloudfields are near each other, and even though the Avvar are a collection of separate tribes, I figure they'd know _something_ of each other… I know there's no such thing as shuriken or even a knife-throwing ability in DAO, but so far as I'm concerned, sharpened metal shards and the ability to throw them exist in Thedas. More (implied) Duncan/Brytta spiciness. And yes, things created in my other AUs will be mentioned in passing; saves on world-building and allows less detailed AUs of AUs… I really need a life!

…

**Part 13: Respite**

"And this… is what happens when the darkspawn come," Duncan said grimly in between panting for breath as he leant on his sword. The battle for Honnleath had been short but hard and furious, leaving the Warden-Commander a bit grey-faced and utterly exhausted. Brytta eyed him worriedly as she divested the scattered darkspawn of anything useful; he wasn't a young man, even before you took into account the taint, and it would kill her to lose him so soon from something so stupid like a heart attack.

But the chance to pick up a golem was too good to pass up, and since Honnleath was only a few days out of the way from Cloudfields, Duncan had decided to take the risk. They hadn't quite counted on the darkspawn being this far up in the mountains… Though they ought to have expected it. The Blight was spreading fast.

The golem stood in the middle of the village, splattered with white stains from the birds which had presumably used it as a perch. Brytta raised the rod and intoned the activation code… only to find the stone creature remained inert. Her response was… colourful. Daveth and Cailan grinned in appreciation, Morrigan raised her eyebrows, Sten frowned and Duncan simply sighed.

"Fan out and look for survivors," the Warden-Commander ordered as Brytta turned away from the golem, sheathing the red steel cheese knife, of all things, she'd found in a chest. Her knack for carving gemstones and the natural ingenuity of a Duster used to improvising weapons from anything and everything meant that she'd been able to use Daveth's larger trapping shards as throwing weapons. Not much damage unless she struck an eye, but they certainly slowed oncoming enemies down.

It was Alistair who found the survivors and killed the demon which tried to possess the girl Amalia even before the other Wardens knew there was a problem. The ex-templar hugged the frightened girl, who appeared to be mage-born like her father and grandfather, as Brytta and Daveth came running up after all the commotion. Her grateful father gave them the password… and so they acquired an extremely sarcastic golem who was just a bit on the bitter side that called itself Shale.

Brytta hit it off with Shale immediately as they left Honnleath for Cloudfields with a small group of refugees in tow; Matthias intended to lead them to Redcliffe; figuring out how to use those augmentation crystals had helped. Oddly enough, so had Daveth and Duncan; maybe the creature had a thing for rogues? Morrigan expressed dissatisfaction with the fact they weren't making an effort to repair the control rod… until Duncan roared at the witch to shut the fuck up and deal with it. With this detour into the Frostbacks, the Warden-Commander was getting more than a little testy.

Cailan, Alistair and Sten had fallen into the typical macho penis-waving thing male warriors did, proving all three really should sit down and remove their armour more. Their bickering and challenges (usually the Theirin brothers versus the Kossith Warden) were also wearing on Duncan's nerves. Finally Brytta had to take matters into her own hands: she took the last wheel of cheese and the nearly-empty bag of cookies, held them over a cliff's edge, and told the men that if they argued one more time, she was going to toss them over.

It was amazing how quickly the trio fell into line… and how the lines of exhaustion eased on Duncan's face as he roared with laughter until he cried. Even Morrigan and Daveth were amused while Shale suggested crushing their faces. The golem tended to consider that a valid solution to most of life's little people problems. Brytta was a bit scared with how much and often she agreed with the idea.

That night, two days out from Cloudfields, Duncan took her hard and fast, all of the frustration and stress he was experiencing in the fierce kisses and crushing grip. When it was over, he curled around her, gasping more than a man his age should. But Brytta didn't venture any questions about the state of his health; the leashed fury at all the delays and problems with this Blight lingered in those dark eyes… And she didn't want to be the one to set it free, perhaps with dire consequences for his health.

Instead she asked him about Grey Warden lore: Duncan was only too happy to relay the bits and pieces of history that he knew. He shared some of the more amusing stories, like the cheese dream Maric had told him about and the robbery which went wrong, from his youth. And then she insisted on giving him a massage to try and relax him. It worked somewhat; the only thing which would fully relax him was killing the archdemon.

Over the next two days Brytta found herself running interference between Duncan and everyone else, discovering a new appreciation for the diplomacy Duncan had to show as Warden-Commander. Having a giant stone golem willing to back her up helped too.

But she'd never been so happy to see a sharpened-stake palisade as she was to see the outskirts of Cloudfields.

…

As Matthias and the refugees set off for Redcliffe with a message from the Wardens and supplies from Cloudfields, Duncan breathed a sigh of relief. The survivors of Honnleath had been another irritant upon the half-dozen or so he had to deal with as Warden-Commander; to see it gone made him feel a bit better.

Angus greeted them as they reached the gate, the guard's face wreathed in relieved smiles. "It's good t' see ye, Warden Duncan," he said. "We'd heard rubbish from some lowlander noble that ye were dead an' traitors t' Ferelden besides!"

"It's Howe and Anora, not the Grey Wardens, who are traitors," Cailan stated flatly.

"Of course…" Angus peered closely at the ex-King. "Why, ye're kin t' Warden Alistair! He never mentioned havin' brothers in the Wardens."

"Cailan was recruited after Ostagar," Alistair replied as he shifted his shield into a more comfortable position on his back.

"Cailan…" Angus' eyes widened. "Ye'd better get in here quick-smart! Randall an' Mhuir'll want t' hear this. It's even better'n the time we had the dwarfen lass with the sore feet here."

"Thanks, Angus," Brytta drawled sarcastically as she trotted up to the gate.

"G'day Warden Brytta! Holgan and Kolgan'll be wantin' t' talk t' ye," Angus said as he ushered the Wardens inside. "'Bout somebody called Jarvia."

"All my old enemies would have to come crawling out of the Stone this month," Brytta observed with a sigh. "I'll see them at the inn…"

Angus shut and bolted the gate behind them as the sun rose to noon. They would spend three days here resting and resupplying before making their way to Haven; Duncan decided he'd also ask the locals if they knew anything on this mysterious village.

As they walked through the village, Duncan explained the relationship that the Grey Wardens had with the people of Cloudfields. He could also see that the fortifications had been strengthened – but with the news of a Blight, the village would be stupid not to fortify themselves, being so close to the Deep Roads. And few Cloudfielders, be they human or dwarf, were stupid.

He watched Brytta greet one of the dwarven villagers easily and smiled inwardly. His little Dust Town diamond had grown in the months since he rescued her from Orzammar. Loghain might be Warden-Second officially and Alistair his lieutenant in the field, but it was the auburn-haired dwarf who'd taken over many of the practical day-to-day details of the Warden-Commander's job… often without Duncan realising it. It certainly suited her bubbly, pragmatic personality.

_To think I had once sought to stay away from her for my own sake,_ he thought sadly. _If I survive to reach the archdemon, it will be because of Brytta._

With all the heart-twinges he'd been having lately, Duncan decided to also speak to the spirit healer Mhuir whilst he was here. The apostate mage was probably nigh as talented as Wynne in that department; Alistair would have liked to hang onto the elder _saaHira_, but she had her duties to the rebel army. He would need to press Morrigan to learn more about healing.

Mhuir knowingly smiled when Duncan requested a private room for him and Brytta. "I knew the dwarfen girl'd get ye," the healer said as she placed a hand over his heart and murmured an incantation to check on the Warden-Commander's health. Then she frowned slightly. "Duncan… yer family's got heart-troubles in their history?"

"…My father died of a heart attack and my mother killed herself," the part-Rivaini admitted worriedly. "Are you saying…?"

"Keep away from fatty things, cut out the wine, an' try not t' lose yer temper too often," Mhuir replied with a sigh. "Any way ye can hand off yer duties t' someone else?"

"Hardly. Brytta does what she can, but…"

"She'll be needin' t' do a bit more if'n she wants a few more years with ye," Mhuir said sharply. "I can't tell ye t' avoid stress an' battle, but ye'll need t' be leavin' the everyday stuff to the girl."

"And he will," Brytta said from the doorway, having walked silently in while they were talking. "I'd… wondered… but I didn't want to be the one to ask. He's got enough trouble."

"You can't tell the others," Duncan told her. "Could you imagine what they'd do?"

"Sten would try to take over as leader, Morrigan run away, Shale offer to crush your head to put you out of your misery, and Cailan and Alistair treat you like a feeble old man," Brytta agreed with a sigh.

"You didn't mention Daveth," Duncan pointed out with a wry grin.

"He'd be finding new ways to _give_ you a heart attack," Alistair piped up as he stuck his head into the room. "…I will keep this to myself, Duncan. Brytta and I can run things; all you need to worry about is strategy and battle."

"Thank you, both of you," Duncan said with a relieved sigh. "Now, all we need to do is get to Haven, find these bloody ashes, and heal Arl Eamon."

"Haven? Be careful there; they're a bunch of crazy giant flyin' lizard worshippers," Mhuir warned. "Nasty, the lot of them; came raidin' down here now an' then. Til we had Kolgan an' Holgan's pa kick their arses into the next year…"

Duncan nodded and looked to Brytta. "Did you speak to those two…?"

"Yeah. Jarvia's taken over Beraht's operation and has offered a five sovereign bounty for my head." The dwarven woman snorted derisively. "I'm insulted. It should be at least twenty."

"Anything on your friend Leske?"

"No… He's either sucked up to Jarvia or gone into a rival carta," Brytta sighed. "…You were right. He's probably not Warden material."

There was no 'probably' about it. Duncan knew scum when he saw it and Leske was at the top of the list. But he didn't have the heart to warn Brytta for any possible betrayal from that quarter. Not when she'd be worrying about his health.

The Warden-Commander sighed once again. He didn't need this shit, truly. Perhaps he ought to hand command over to Loghain formally when they returned… But no. The general didn't have the contacts or the diplomatic ability to handle Riordan and the other foreign Wardens who would arrive, either by command of the First Warden or of their own volition, to combat the Blight. Brytta lacked the experience, Alistair the backbone, and Cailan the… well… _discipline._ Sten was too rigid, Morrigan too self-absorbed, and Daveth too unpolished. Like it or not, he was stuck with the job.

At least he'd have these three days' respite… and if the deep mushrooms Mhuir had pressed upon him with a wink as he went to join Brytta upstairs were any indication, he'd likely not leave the bed for most of them. The healer had repaired what damage age and stress had done to his heart she could, but still warned him about avoiding stressful situations and heavy, fatty foods. "Save yer strength for battle," she advised. "Leave the frettin' t' Brytta an' Alistair."

Right. Like that could happen. Not with the travelling madhouse he called his Wardens. At least Sereda Aeducan wasn't with them… at the moment. He dreaded Brytta and the ex-princess interacting on a daily basis… Hopefully Loghain could keep her in line.

And maybe nugs could fly.

…

Contrary to popular belief, Sereda Aeducan wasn't a classist bitch with an ego the size of a Paragon's statue. She was simply aware of who and what she was – and the legacy she represented. On her better days, she could even appreciate the skill Bhelen had demonstrated in arranging for her to kill Trian and then have her exiled. But her brother should have moved for her execution, not exile. She would teach him otherwise.

Her father's death was saddening. Endrin Aeducan deserved better than to be succeeded by an embarrassment like Bhelen; so she had sent a message to Pyral Harrowmount begging for his forgiveness and explaining the power-play her brother had put into place – and how she regretted trusting one sibling over the other to kill Trian. Harrowmount was a good, honourable man… with a will made of butter. Sereda accepted she could never be Queen of Orzammar as was her rightful due; but Warden-Commander of Orzammar and chief adviser to King Harrowmount? Yes, that would be almost as satisfactory. She could help Harrowmount and his traditional supporters crack down on casteless scum like the Brosca sisters.

Bhelen was weak when it came to a pair of big eyes and heaving breasts; the noble-hunter Rica had played him like a lute and milked seed which should have been pumped into a Helmi or a Bemot to birth a puling tainted brat. And Duncan, a Warden-Commander who should have known better, had fallen for a similar trick with the bitch Brytta.

Sereda pitied the old human man. Brytta had likely spun tales of a horrible childhood, and even the princess had to admit that the Duster had a lot of nerve and talent. But she was _casteless._ Everd or Mainar should be Grey Wardens (or even Gorim, though the betrayal of the knight in wedding another angered her), not some bitch-born brand with a canyon between her legs. Maybe humans weren't so discerning since they didn't come from the Stone, poor souls, but even the meanest dog in the scabbiest kennel topside was too worthy a partner for a casteless, let alone the Commander of the Grey!

Still, a human lover might be useful. Sereda would have made a move for Cailan if the former King hadn't shown such contempt for her presence. Stupid moron; his mother should have thrown him in a lava flow. Daveth was the human equivalent of a Duster and Loghain too sharp to be manipulated by a woman. But Alistair the Chantry virgin… Perfect. Eager to please, biddable, none-too-bright… Who knew – as brother to the ex-King, maybe she could gain power topside as she could below…

Sereda was the only one fit to be Warden-Commander after the Blight. She would need to make certain Loghain died heroically; she bore the man no ill will and he was a fine general and hero besides. Perhaps have him slay the archdemon? Yes, that could work. Cailan, Morrigan, Daveth and Sten were non-entities, either not interested in power or too obedient to make a grab for it. Alistair would make the perfect second.

Regrettably, Duncan would need to die, probably in Orzammar. Sereda knew that the Warden-Commander's heart was weak; the sheer stress of the political turmoil would likely kill him. It was kinder than the Deep Roads.

As for Brytta and Rica Brosca… a _special_ fate would await those two whores. Sereda supposed she _could_ let the Warden-whore join the Legion of the Dead since her fighting skills were too chancy to have her meet the same fate as that planned for Rica. By the time the entire Warrior Caste were done with the noble-hunter, _if_ she survived, no man would want her.

It wasn't cruelty that drove Sereda. _"Grey Wardens are ruthless to their enemies, compassionate to their friends, and inspiring to their troops."_ How many times had she heard Duncan himself say that? Those who were true to her would be rewarded; those who were obstacles would be removed as mercifully as possible. But those who were her enemies – particularly Bhelen and the Brosca sisters – they would truly learn what it was to anger an Aeducan.

Orzammar would be next on the treaties as they were closer to Redcliffe than the Brecilian Forest… And Loghain would be leading this 'rebel' army. Sereda decided that hedging her bets in case Howe and Anora won would be a good idea…

The princess selected a piece of parchment and began to write a detailed missive: just enough information to be useful, but not enough to give the game away. She'd read _The Game of Princes_. A book of wisdom written by an intelligent human that educated her immensely. Her only mistake had been to trust in Bhelen's self-interest and survival instinct.

He would regret that when she had his casteless spawn's head dashed against the floor of the scabbiest public latrine she could find and then have the corpse buried in the sewers. But she would be kind: he and Rica would join the brat.

It wasn't cruelty, but necessity, which drove Sereda Aeducan. Unfortunately lesser beings would call her cruel, even evil. Once she was Warden-Commander, all would understand the reasons for her actions.


	14. Ashes

Note: Thanks for the reviews! I use a mod called Orgolove's Armageddon; some very, very awesome AoE spells which are based on spell combinations like Storm of the Century (Blizzard and Tempest) and Entropic Death (pretty much insta-kill combo of Death Cloud and some other spell). I could see Morrigan having a mastery of such spells. Mara, my autistic f!Cousland, is head-canon; her name replaces Elissa when one is required. Not that she'll have a part in _this_ story, simply be mentioned in passing… :) Shortish chapter; seemed appropriate to end it where I did.

…

**Part 14: Ashes**

"Alistair, I know you were raised by the Chantry… but seriously, you topsiders need to sit down and give some hard thought to recreating your religion. Because these people are raving batshit insane."

Brytta's deadpan sarcasm made the ex-templar chuckle as he unleashed a smite which stunned the two cult mages and four archers that supported the lunatic Father Kolgrim. It had been a long hard battle to the top of the mountain leading to the hiding place of Andraste's Ashes; the Cloudfielders hadn't been joking when they called the people of Haven 'a bunch of crazy giant flying lizard worshippers'. Ten dragonlings, six drakes and several dozen cultists later, they were now eliminating their final obstacle to reaching the Urn of Sacred Ashes.

Duncan had engaged the axe-wielding cult leader supported by Cailan and Sten as the rest of the Wardens kept the hordes of cultists off the trio's backs. And they still yet had to do something about the High Dragon lurking in the caldera of an extinct volcano… At least _somebody_ would be getting good drakeskin leathers if the Wardens survived to return to the lowlands.

"Fall back!" Morrigan cried out in Chasind; the Wardens obeyed, having worked on a set of code words in the tribal tongue to enable in-battle communication without their enemies discerning the meaning of those commands. Then a fierce localised snowstorm, complete with ice-blue lightning, began to circulate directly over Kolgrim and the remaining cultists. Even in the furs hastily sewn into rough cloaks and leg-wrappings, the Wardens could feel the icy death contained within the witch's most powerful attack spell. But they were prepared; Kolgrim and his people were not. And they died for it.

When the spell had died down, the Wardens made sure of their enemies and gathered anything useful from their corpses to be stowed with the packs and traded at Cloudfields on the way back. Then they sat down and ate a meal of hardtack, dried fish and winter greens Morrigan had gathered to prevent the bleeding-teeth sickness. Whatever the Gauntlet was, it promised to be dangerous and they needed to be ready for anything.

"Shale, Sten, Cailan, Alistair, Morrigan; you will be staying out here to guard the camp," Duncan commanded as he rose to his feet with a groan. "Brytta, Daveth, Atrast Hjarta: you are with me."

"I assume you're expecting traps in there," Alistair said as he rubbed the back of his neck. "Though why the dog's going…"

"It could be argued he's takin' the three smartest folk in the group with him," Daveth teased with a grin as Fluffy padded to join his side.

"Himself, Brytta and the dog? Probably. Maybe you're just along to go in front and trigger any traps," Alistair retorted with a smirk as Atrast Hjarta barked her amusement.

"Fuck you, Alistair," Daveth muttered.

_He's not going to mate with you. You love wolves, remember?_ Atrast Hjarta barked derisively.

Duncan sighed and rubbed his forehead. "Should I leave you behind, Daveth?" the Warden-Commander asked wryly.

"And let the mutt get the last laugh? Not fuckin' likely," Daveth answered. "Alrighty, off we go. Say a prayer to Andraste for us, will yas?"

"Of course," Cailan replied. "I'm assuming we are to head back to the lowlands if you are not back in a day or so?"

"Three days," Duncan agreed, smiling at the berserker. "Maker watch over you."

"May He watch over us all," Alistair automatically answered.

Brytta took the time to check her straps and weapons before joining Duncan on his walk through the caldera where the High Dragon slept. "You know those four are going to kill that thing," she murmured, jerking a thumb in the beast's direction.

"Of course," Duncan replied with a roguish grin. "I have a feeling the Gauntlet will require more brains than brawn anyways… Whereas a battle with a High Dragon might be a bit too stressful for me at the moment."

The Duster echoed the Warden-Commander's grin before twining her fingers around his. Side-by-side, they entered the Gauntlet with an arguing thief, dog and wolf at their heels.

…

Meeting the Guardian was startling. As the son of a Rivaini woman, Duncan had nothing but the highest of respect for benevolent spirits but this one was powerful and enigmatic enough to make him uncomfortable. The look in those piercing eyes, the one which burrowed to the core of the Warden-Commander's soul, stripped away all defences and pretences to the deepest sins and regrets he possessed.

The Guardian asked each member of the group, including the dog and the wolf, what their greatest regrets concerning a defining situation where somebody suffered or was left behind. He asked Daveth about his mother, left with a heavy-handed father and no chance of escape; the thief hung his head and muttered that he should have dumped his father in a bog to save his mother. He asked Atrast Hjarta about her first owner, a young noble who'd died at Ostagar; the hound whined about being left to die as he fled, only for him to be speared by a Hurlock. Fluffy's answer to a question about his pack was untranslatable to all but Daveth, who patted his lupine friend comfortingly. Brytta, unsurprisingly, was asked about her friend Leske and her family; the little dwarven woman sighed and said, "I should've had him come topside with me and Duncan. My family… Wasn't much I could do that Rica hadn't already done herself."

And then it was Duncan's turn. The Guardian looked at him mildly and asked, "Do you think, Duncan of the Grey Wardens, that if you hadn't supported Genevieve in her quest for Bregan when the other Wardens wished to return to the surface, you might have saved her and most of your fellow Wardens from a horrible death?"

The Warden-Commander forced himself to look the spirit in the eye and said, "Every day."

The Guardian nodded. "Thank you." And the way to the Gauntlet was open.

It was Brytta, witty and cunning, who got them past the room of riddles; Duncan's combat expertise which allowed them to face shadow-selves drawn from dust and air; Daveth's unexpected eye for patterns which helped them to solve the puzzle-bridge. Duncan, who was at least a casual adherent to the Andrastian Chantry, approached the Urn of Sacred Ashes after they all disrobed (well, except the animals) to collect a pinch. Brytta gasped on the sight of a lyrium vein close to the ashes but tactfully avoided mentioning that was more likely the source of the ashes' healing powers.

There were few places Duncan considered sacred: the Brecilian Forest, the Shaperate in Orzammar, Weisshaupt Fortress in the Anderfels. This place joined that list as he bowed his head humbly and thanked the Maker for his mercies. Brytta and Daveth were solemnly silent, the animals bored, as he reflected on the ghost of Genevieve telling him to let go of his regrets and move on. The power of this place to heal extended beyond the ashes, he realised; contrition and repentance included the ability to forgive one's self, accept the lessons taught by sins committed, and to grow as a person.

Then it was time to leave. Duncan bowed to the spirit, a move echoed by Brytta and Daveth and Atrast Hjarta, and then guided them out into the great broad caldera where – unsurprisingly – a dragon's skinned corpse and five blood-splattered individuals awaited. Much to Duncan's chagrin, the Theirin brothers were also squabbling over the dragonscales like children as Shale encouraged them to crush each other's' faces. Sten and Morrigan were too busy sorting out the goods looted from the dragon's hoard to get involved.

"Sten gets it – _if_ we can find someone who can make it into armour," Brytta said suddenly. "He's our biggest hitter and tends to draw enemies the most, so he needs the stronger armour."

Since Mhuir had told the little dwarf she needed to do more to save Duncan grief, she'd taken over everything and anything involving resources and who got what. She was tough but fair; Duncan blessed the innate good nature of Cailan and Alistair's tendency to defer to others as the Theirin boys grumbled but accepted Brytta's decree. Sten simply nodded and smiled subtly; the qunari had set aside his armour as he was no longer of the Beresaad and had been making do with a set of iron plate taken from a Tal-Vashoth as a favour to Ignacio of the Crows.

Thankfully they'd managed to acquire a flame-enchanted axe and a roundshield, both forged from silverite, for Alistair in Denerim; though by the way the ex-templar was reacting to the cold, Duncan knew they'd have to find a new weapon for him soon as winter closed in. But for now, he could just wear extra furs until they returned to the lowlands.

He noticed that Brytta had passed off the red steel daggers she'd found to Daveth and continued to rely on the Aeducan mace or her twin iron daggers for melee combat. The dwarf still used the fine Dalish longbow secreted in the Grey Warden cache within the Deep Roads when it came to ranged fighting. Knowing Brytta, it was probably because it hadn't occurred to the dwarf to simply upgrade her weapons when the ones she had worked so well. He knew that she was sentimentally attached to the mace because he'd given it to her…

"I need a bath," the Duster complained. "I'm absolutely filthy."

"You bathe more than Anora," Cailan said in awe, his lips twisting bitterly at the mention of his very likely soon-to-be ex-wife.

"You should try it more often," Sten suggested dryly.

"He bathes enough and _I_ am quite finicky about cleanliness," Morrigan told the Kossith.

"It is a pity you are a mage. You would make an excellent Ben-Hassrath," Sten rumbled. They'd _finally_ hammered home that two of the Wardens were female and very, very unimpressed to be described as anything but. They were still trying to wean him off calling Morrigan 'unbound mage' like it was a filthy, vile thing to be. Of course, the witch's sharp tongue didn't help matters…

Duncan let the group bicker as he went to find a quiet spot. The Warden-Commander didn't want to lose that peaceful feeling being in the presence of the Ashes had given him. He knew it would leave soon enough.

Brytta joined him as twilight fell. It was too cold and exposed to make love; instead they just held each other, savouring the quiet as Duncan rested his chin on the dwarven woman's head and watched the sun set. Neither of them spoke; sometimes, words weren't needed to have the best conversation of one's life.

…

Arl Eamon poured himself a goblet of Antivan brandy-wine, strong fingers still shaking subtly from his poisoning; Loghain and Teagan had availed themselves of the same beverage but Wynne chose the strong Orlesian red and Fergus a hearty ale. Duncan, regretfully, drank only water because of Mhuir's advice.

"We will need to call for a Landsmeet," the Arl said grimly as he sipped his wine, the liquor lending a ruddy glow to his lined, pale cheeks.

"That is obvious," Loghain grated. The general's temper was even shorter due to the presence of both Riordan and Sereda Aeducan… and the rumours flying around concerning a young mage's infatuation with him. Duncan had indulged in a little gentle teasing about it himself.

"There is no way that Cailan cannot continue as King and Warden?" Eamon asked of Duncan. "We… need unity now."

"No. We must remain neutral for important reasons," Duncan promptly answered. "Technically, Loghain shouldn't be leading the army, but with Howe's actions… we have no choice."

Eamon sighed and rubbed his forehead. "I am worried about the reaction of the people to a non-Theirin taking the throne. We Guerrins cannot take it – not and look like opportunists at any rate." The Arl looked pointedly at the tattooed, dark-braided, fur-wearing Fergus. "And your father, I fear, is unsuitable because of that brainstorm."

"Frankly, I know there's been some discussion about making me King, but I'm not really interested. I intend to remain as Teyrn-to-be and Lord of the Chasind," the heir to Highever said dryly.

"Aedan's too young… and married as he is to Delilah Howe, he may be chancy," Eamon pointed out tiredly. "Unless we hand the throne to Bryland – Maker forbid Habren becomes Queen! – or Wulff, you are our only candidate if the Grey Wardens will not relent on returning Cailan to the throne."

"Even were I to let him go, I suspect he'd refuse," Duncan told the Arl.

"It is… regrettable… that what we become renders us effectively sterile if a Theirin heir is so important, otherwise I would suggest finding a willing woman like Alfstanna of Waking Sea, having Cailan or Alistair impregnate her, and then set up a ruling Regency Council," Loghain observed with dry sarcasm.

"It is _regrettable_ your daughter couldn't provide Cailan with an heir," Eamon countered acidly.

"Cailan had half a dozen mistresses and handfuls of casual dalliances, none of which produced a child," Loghain retorted. "Perhaps the boot lay on the other foot?"

_Even in effective rebellion against his own daughter, the Hero of the River Dane automatically defends Anora, _Duncan mused quietly as he let the nobles of Ferelden argue about who should be King. Given that the Queen was a political opportunist, the Warden-Commander had to wonder that if Howe was removed she would cooperate with the Grey Wardens and the Landsmeet to deal with the Blight. It was… tempting… to let them put Cailan back on the throne… But Grey Wardens were neutral for a reason. And as Cailan's commander, Duncan couldn't force the young man to return to a duty he positively loathed.

Fergus Cousland really was the best choice of the high nobility: young and of proven virility, a competent commander and general, wed to a woman with connections to the Antivan royal family… His little brother Aedan was a political creature more concerned with his rights than his responsibilities and the youngest Mara was said to be so strange they'd sent her to Antiva to be raised by Fergus' in-laws.

Duncan was more concerned about the treaties. Orzammar, for both reasons practical and personal, would be the next stop. And since he couldn't show favouritism, he had to bring both Brytta and Sereda along… Which sounded about as enjoyable as a romantic interlude with a Broodmother.

Finally he excused himself, citing the need for rest after a long journey, and returned to the room he shared with Brytta… Only to find the dwarven woman packing her bags. "What in the Maker's name are you doing?" he blurted.

"Taking me, Sereda, Alistair, Cailan and Morrigan to the Brecilian Forest while you, Riordan, Sten, Daveth and Shale head off to the dwarves," the Duster said pragmatically. "Loghain will be with the rebel army in case they run into the archdemon and neither me nor Sereda can interfere in Orzammar politics."

It was an excellent solution… but Duncan didn't want to be without his little Dust Town diamond. "Brytta…"

"Grey Wardens do whatever it takes to see the Blight ended, love," she replied sadly. "I hate losing months with you… But we need to collect those treaties as soon as possible. The Blight has reached West Hills, according to my sources; Arl Wulff lost both his heirs."

"Shit."

"Exactly. We can't be sentimental about this, love. I… don't want to be without you. But we can't fuck around on this. There's enough of us to split into two groups and see both treaties collected at once."

"Has Riordan agreed to this?" Duncan asked carefully.

"It was his suggestion, I'm sad to say." The little Duster finished packing her rucksack and sighed. "This sucks. But neither me nor Sereda can be there and with the brothers and Morrigan backing me up, I can keep her out of trouble. And Riordan can obviously do what I've been doing, only better."

"No one can do what you do better," Duncan rasped. "_MaHábba_, I will miss you."

"And I you," Brytta whispered as she reached for him.


	15. Leaves

Note: Thanks for the reviews. Speeding things up a bit as I'm reaching one of the story's climax points in the next chapter or two… Because I run mods on my computer, I've got a useful one called 'Awakening in the OC', which allows Awakening specialisations and materials and that to be used in Origins; henceforth, Brytta is a Legionnaire Scout – I see it as a dwarven rogue specialty, not just a Legion of the Dead thing. I'm also changing up the dialogue involving Zathrian and making this another shortish chapter.

…

**Part 15: Leaves**

If there was any type of territory topside designed to make a dwarf feel insignificant, then the Brecilian Forest was probably it, Brytta decided as she followed the understandably hostile Dalish scouts back to their hidden camp. She was glad she chose to wear her Grey Warden leathers and insist Morrigan wear her robes; otherwise, the Duster suspected, they'd be riddled with arrows by now.

She wasn't quite sure how she'd wound up as leader of their little group especially as Sereda had made a concerted effort to take command. Probably because Morrigan and Cailan were adamant the ex-princess _not_ lead despite superior experience and training. Given that Brytta herself would rather take over than let Sereda tell her what to do and Alistair wasn't the leader type… Well, there it was. Warden-Ensign Brytta Brosca now commanded a squad of Grey Wardens.

_It's a shame Rica and Ma can't see me now,_ she thought wryly as she hopped over a large tree root. The last letter from Rica, delivered just before Brytta had departed Redcliffe and smuggled out through some shady Dust Town connections, had informed her the noble-hunter had popped out a boy who was the spitting image of Bhelen Aeducan and been raised to the status of concubine. Rica had also hinted that if Bhelen became King, he would marry her in defiance of dwarven law. Brytta hoped so… If only to see the look on Sereda's face when she found out.

The Noble Caste was up to something: she was being far too nice and agreeable, especially to Alistair. She'd latched onto the ex-templar and was building up his confidence – which would be a good thing if she hadn't been a scheming bitch. Morrigan shared her concerns but Cailan was of the optimistic opinion Sereda, now free of Orzammar's deadly intrigues, was just realising she could be herself. Brytta had to remind herself that the easygoing berserker was mostly an idiot, even if he'd wised up over the past few months. Yet she couldn't step in and save Alistair's ass; he'd need to figure it out for himself.

"Warden-Ensign," the Dalish scout Mithra said, appearing by her elbow. "Could you please tell me why the Warden-Commander did not come himself?"

"Because there's a big political mess in Orzammar," Brytta said with a sigh, rubbing her nose.

"Are the _durgen'len_ of higher importance to the Grey Wardens than the Dalish then?" Mithra asked, her voice sharp as she displayed the nomadic elves' tendency to take offence at everything.

"No. The fact that the dwarven king is dead and two nobles are squabbling over the throne – much like what's happening in the Bannorn – means that we need his superior diplomatic and political expertise in a place where they're killing each other in the streets," Brytta answered as she cast a glance back at Sereda, who was telling Alistair something which made him laugh.

"Then why are you and your fellow dwarf not there?" Mithra pressed.

"Because I have ties to one faction and she to the other," the Duster promptly replied. "The Grey Wardens are neutral and must be seen as such."

"Ah." The Dalish elf nodded thoughtfully. "I… can promise that you will not face politics and intrigue here."

"But as has come to be expected, you have a problem of your own which must be solved before we can claim your treaty," Morrigan observed in her crooning poetic manner. A diplomat the witch was not.

"We… have a problem, yes. But you must speak to our Keeper about it," Mithra admitted reluctantly as they turned around and suddenly reached a clearing full of the Dalish and their wagons. A quiet murmuring began as the elves saw there were humans and dwarves following their scouts, Mithra leading them to a stern, bald man dressed in a flowing green robe.

"What is it, Mithra? I have little patience today and less for out-" the (Brytta assumed) Keeper began until he spotted the crest on the Duster's leathers. Then the elf sighed and rubbed his bald head. "Forgive me, Grey Wardens. You have… come at a difficult time."

"So I've gathered," Brytta replied as she took in the demeanour of the crowd: beaten, dispirited and desperate. "I'm going to assume you know it's a Blight and why we are here."

"Indeed," the Keeper responded. "I am Zathrian, Keeper of this clan, and I fear we are unable to oblige you involving the treaty as we have been beset by a lycanthrope plague."

"Warden-Ensign Brytta Brosca; pleased to meet you," the Duster replied with the cross-armed warrior's bow Duncan had taken so long to teach her.

"Manners from a _durgen'len_!" Zathrian exclaimed, his voice only _mildly_ sarcastic. "Was Warden-Commander Duncan unavailable to visit personally?"

"There is political trouble amongst the _durgen'len_," Mithra immediately said. "Warden-Ensign Brytta and Junior Warden Sereda were assigned to collect this treaty because they had connections to opposing factions."

"What could make a casteless dwarf and a princess on the opposite sides of an issue?" Zathrian asked.

"Her sister is the concubine of the brother who betrayed me," Sereda promptly explained. "And _she_ is only in command because she is the Warden-Commander's lover… despite my superior experience."

"Actually, Brytta's in command because she's the most senior Warden with any talent at it," Cailan said with a grin. "So, a real Dalish! My father met some of you once; they took him to meet Flemeth, the Witch of the Wilds."

"Zathrian, meet Cailan and Alistair Theirin, and Morrigan daughter of Flemeth," Brytta said dryly. "I apologise in advance if they're less than diplomatic."

"I… had heard rumours of the Fereldan King becoming a Grey Warden." Zathrian's eyes were sharp as he examined them. "I think, Wardens, we may be able to help each other."

"Fantastic!" Brytta responded as he led them to a makeshift infirmary containing groaning patients. "I do like an equitable exchange of services."

…

"Sonuvabitch," Brytta muttered as the Lady of the Forest opened the passage leading to the upper level of the ruins within which the werewolves resided. Atrast Hjarta growled at the insult, barking her opinion that no self-respecting mabari bitch would claim Zathrian as her own. The Duster rubbed her ears in apology.

"We should kill him for the deception," Sereda said flatly. "These werewolves would make the superior allies."

"And if you haven't noticed, the poor sods are under a pretty vicious curse," Cailan pointed out. "If we can persuade Zathrian to release them… Everyone wins."

"He lied to us." Sereda's voice was slow like she was talking to an idiot. "He deserves to die before he can betray us."

"Sereda… This isn't Orzammar. In a roundabout way I can understand why Zathrian chose as he did, even if I don't like it. Grey Wardens don't kill people without good reason. We are the protectors of Thedas, not dwarven nobles trying to gain a shred more of power," Alistair told the princess quietly. "I know it's hard to break the thought patterns of a lifetime, but you can trust us and trust Brytta's judgment."

"I… Alistair, you are right. I will grant that I haven't been treated any differently when it comes to duties," Sereda agreed grudgingly. Then she gave the ex-templar a smile Brytta had to concede was breathtaking. "It's a… _pleasure_… to have someone as honourable and upright as Lord Harrowmount amongst us."

_She's playing Alistair like a lute and with the way he was raised, he's going to fall for it like a Duster after free beer,_ Brytta thought sourly as she began to climb the stairs to the top of the ruins. But she couldn't intervene – not say anything and avoid looking like a nasty bitch. _Fucking nug-licking gold-plated bitch._

Brytta was unsurprised to find Zathrian waiting for them outside. "Look… we need to talk. The werewolves have regained their minds," the Duster said.

"You jest, surely," Zathrian said. "Do you have the heart of Witherfang?"

"Noooo. Because we spoke to the Lady of the Forest. She wants peace… but since you refused to speak to her, the werewolves started infecting people from your clan to get your attention."

"They are animals! The same worthless animals who murdered my son and drove my daughter to suicide!" Zathrian was really getting worked up about this and Brytta was starting to get pissed.

"You want your clan cured or not? Because you're about five words from making me decide to help the werewolves!" she snarled. "I want a peaceful resolution to this for both sides. What would it cost you to talk?"

"Will you protect me?" Zathrian asked, his face paling dramatically beneath the tattoos at Brytta's threat.

"Of course."

"Though I see no point to it, I will go." Zathrian's voice was bitter with betrayal (hypocritical halla-humping bastard that he was) as he followed Brytta back down to the werewolves' lair.

"You know the Lady is Witherfang, yes?" the elven mage said as they descended.

"Figured that. No skin off my back. Seriously? You need to lose the hate, Zathrian. My mother hates life like a nug does the cooking pot. It's made her a bitter drunk. Now your clan are suffering because of this."

"All shems are the same!"

"Look. Sereda back there was advocating for us just killing you and recruiting the werewolves. Alistair, the tall reddish-blonde guy, argued her out of it. So I'd thank the nice shem if I were you."

Something twisted in Zathrian's face – a moment of softness – before his eyes hardened. "You know nothing of our suffering!"

"Fuck you. Want to know suffering? Be a casteless dwarf. My sister and I had to do things I still shudder to think about just for the chance for her to get knocked up by Prince Bhelen. I was a murderer and thug and my recruitment into the Grey Wardens was three-quarters luck." Brytta sighed. "Letting that hatred eat you… It'll kill you in the end, Zathrian. Let it go."

Ironically, it was the letting go of the hatred which killed him. After being beaten into submission by Alistair's templar skills and a hefty shield bash, Zathrian relented and broke the curse, slaying himself and the Lady in the process. The restored humans were grateful, vowing to head to Redcliffe to join Arl Eamon's army.

The Dalish were… saddened… by Zathrian's passing but Lanaya promised to be a wise leader. She agreed to honour the treaty and provided travelling rations for the Wardens to return to Redcliffe to let Arl Eamon what was going on. Ancestors willing, Duncan would be there and/or Rendon Howe would be dead.

…

The leaves of the rosebush in the Queen's Garden were blackened and withered despite being located in a very expensive glasshouse that had been sent, piece by piece, to Anora as a gift from Celene of Orlais. Her father had suggested smashing every pane of glass. She'd chosen to have it built instead for a spot of warmth and colour even at the depths of winter.

"The Wardens, it appears, have gained the treaty from the Dalish," she observed as her fingers caressed a small hand-mirror carved from glossy red-veined black stone. "After Howe's actions, I doubt they will listen to reason."

"We only need one or two Wardens to survive to slay the archdemon," observed a dry whispered voice that came from everywhere and nowhere. "I have tried reasoning with them, Queen… Very few listen. One would think they would want peace."

"It is the nature of men to want war," the Queen said regretfully as she rubbed at the crease between her brows. Five years of ruling Ferelden in her husband's name while the fool caroused and wenched his way from one end of the nation to the other, her reputation tarnished for the inability to bear children. Once she'd cared for Cailan. Now she considered him a burden lifted and a memory to be used as she saw fit.

"You know men better than I," the voice admitted calmly. "And aside from a certain Warden-Commander, women have ever been the more reasonable gender of your species."

"It is sad that so few realise it," the Queen sighed. "The qunari have the right of it: women rule, men war."

"I bow to your wisdom yet again." Her new ally went silent for a moment before continuing. "You told me there was one in the Wardens' camp who might be reasonable?"

"Indeed. She desires power above all things and wishes to punish those who wrong her. If we achieve all we can with her aid… She might yet even aid you in gaining peace with the _dwarves_."

"Inform her that I will gladly do everything in my power to retreat from the dwarven parts of the Deep Roads in return for her aid," the voice said evenly, a hint of eagerness to its tone. "No doubt the dwarves are weary of endless war."

"Most people are. It is the warlords and the Wardens who keep the fires burning." If she could achieve this lasting peace, no one would deny she was fit to hold the throne in her own right, not with the support of opportunistic thugs like Howe.

"Agreed." The voice sighed. "I am sick of this endless cycle of death and destruction. I do not seek the sunlit world. I only seek peace."

"That makes two of us," Anora agreed. "I will see the most stubborn Wardens dead and you will see my land spared the Blight."

"Thank you, Queen Anora," the voice said, certainly sounding grateful. "I am glad we were able to make contact."

"As am I, Architect." Anora dropped the mirror onto her lap and rubbed her fingers on the silken fabric of her dress to try and ease the pins and needles as feeling returned to them.

It was a very great regret that Cailan had survived Ostagar; her father's insane loyalty to Maric had kept the old general in the battle long past the time he should have retreated for the good of Ferelden. Howe had seen the trap set by the darkspawn immediately and withdrawn to save his forces.

_Speaking of Howe…_ Anora sighed yet again. He was due for dinner tonight and that required special… arrangements. Rendon knew how much she needed him and milked it for all it was worth. At least Cailan had been _attractive…_

But a Queen did what she had to and so Anora buried the mirror beneath the rosebush and returned to her bedroom. Behind her, the rosebush lost a few more leaves and the blackness extended a little further into the rest of the garden.


	16. Betrayal

Note: Thanks for the reviews. This is a very short chapter as it sets things up for what happens in the next one… And I can really only spend so long in Sereda's head before I want to puke. And yes, I know, I'm screwing with companion recruitment yet again…

…

**Part 16: Betrayals**

"The Antivan Crows send their regards."

Brytta swore as a tree fell, blocking the path from which she and her team had come; the Duster cursed the altruistic impulse which had led her to follow the traveller begging for help. Now as the classic signs of an ambush revealed themselves in archers positioned on either side of the small valley's heights and the mage whose hands crackled with uncast lightning, the dwarf gave herself over to the rage which had bubbled beneath the surface since she separated from Duncan with the irritant of Sereda Aeducan's presence. She set her feet to the Stone, bared her teeth in something between a grin and a snarl, and felt a red haze veil her vision as a battle began.

When the fight was over, the red haze cleared to reveal a battered but still conscious elf with swarthy skin and flaxen hair. Light amber eyes blinked dozily at her; she recognised the signs of a concussion and waved Morrigan over to heal it, setting the point of her trusty iron dagger to the male (she assumed) elf's throat in case he got… frisky. She needed answers.

The elf revealed his name was Zevran Arainai, an Antivan Crow hired by Rendon Howe to murder any surviving Wardens at the behest of Queen Anora. He spoke fully and frankly about why he was trying to kill them and Brytta admitted to a twinge of sympathy for the poor bastard when he revealed he'd been sold as a boy to become an assassin. When he was done, Sereda suggested they kill him, the other three backing her up… Brytta might have indulged them… but Atrast Hjarta, an excellent judge of character, sniffed the elf's hand and barked, _Keep him. He's sick-sad, not a bad person._

"…I'm taking advice on being a leader from a dog," she said with a sigh. "I can't believe this-"

"Be killing them all except the dwarven woman and the man with short yellow hair," rumbled an inhuman voice just above their heads; everybody looked up to see a hurlock looking down upon them with a wicked glint of intelligence in its eyes.

_"By the Stone-forsaken balls of my father's fathers, what the fuck is that?"_ Brytta demanded as she removed her dagger from the elf's throat.

"I am the Withered One," the hurlock said, almost conversationally, as dozens of genlocks and hurlocks appeared to line the valley and block them in. "My father regrets your deaths, Wardens. But it is required."

And then it gestured, proving itself an emissary, and a cloud of noxious gas filled the air as arrows hailed down from the sky. Brytta was pierced by a half-dozen missiles before she could even move. As the blackness claimed her, she thought not of Duncan, but how the fuck the darkspawn had snuck up on them…

…

Alistair felt something wet wiping the blood from his face; when he opened his eyes, Sereda Aeducan was leaning over him, blue gaze full of concern. "Thank the Maker you survived," she said, her voice breaking. "The others… They're dead."

The ex-templar tried to sit up, only to be pushed down gently by Sereda's small, strong hand. "What… How…?"

"I don't know." The ex-princess's face was grim as she raked short blonde bangs out of her eyes. "The things weren't trying to kill us, Alistair… But they showed no restraint with your brother, Morrigan, the elf, the Duster or her dog."

"We… How…" Alistair was trying to make sense of how he and Sereda had gotten away. They were concealed in a small dip in the land, behind a screen of wintergreen bushes.

"I… took advantage of the fact they were so busy torturing Brytta for information to pick you up and go," the dwarven woman continued. Dwarves were stronger than their height would imply. "There was… nothing I could do. They were trying to keep us alive; I used that to our advantage."

"Oh Maker…" Alistair began to cry, only to be lightly slapped by Sereda.

"We don't have time to mourn. We need to get to Redcliffe and then Orzammar to alert Duncan and the rest." The exile's voice softened a little. "I… was wrong about Brytta. She was brave until the end. Didn't scream once. Your brother died in his feet, screaming defiance like a true Ash Warrior."

Alistair took a deep racking breath and nodded, wiping the tears from his eyes. _In peace, vigilance. In war, victory. In death, sacrifice._ Sereda was right; Duncan needed to know what happened. He needed to know about these talking darkspawn.

"At least Morrigan made up some magicked poultices," Sereda observed pragmatically. She and the witch had never gotten on. "We'll need to be certain the darkspawn are gone before moving on anyways, so I might as well use them now."

She gave him something for the pain. Alistair fell into oblivion, wondering how he was going to tell Duncan the woman he loved had died…

…

"It is good to know that not all Wardens are unreasonable," the Withered One told Sereda as she allowed it to touch the templar's body to heal him. The potion she'd given him would knock the human out for twelve hours, plenty of time for her to make her plans. "The human Queen has proven her wisdom in suggesting we approach you."

"It comes with being a royal female," Sereda replied, concealing her amusement. For all its hideous features and decaying body, the Withered One really was quite… innocent. If its master the Architect was of similar naivety, she might just be able to manipulate the creature. "I approached Anora because the Wardens forced me into their service after my brother betrayed me."

"I am sorry. I have been told brothers are important to bright-worlders." The hurlock even sounded sympathetic, stupid thing. It stood up and adjusted its bone-and-feather headdress. "We must leave. Our enchantments to hide from Wardens will fade soon and we must go underground before the sun rises."

"Goodbye," Sereda said absently as the darkspawn marched out. Left alone with her new pet (Alistair was dumb, loyal and obedient, much like Brytta's cursed mutt), she reflected on the alliances she had made.

Anora and Howe were obvious; they were taking practical steps to keep their power and appreciated having a Warden ally who understood this. But Sereda hadn't known about Anora's alliance with the Architect until the Withered One approached her after the others were all knocked out or killed. Always open to opportunity, she had agreed to hear the darkspawn out, intrigued that there may be factions within the horde who didn't want to awake archdemons and perish in an endless cycle.

It hadn't taken too long to agree… If she could persuade the Architect to unleash some of his more expendable minions until the dwarven frontlines collapsed, she could get the Assembly to agree to anything… like make a Grey Warden Queen. And with Alistair in tow, she could force the human Landsmeet to make him King just so she'd have power above and below. If the Architect remained in the deepest of the Deep Roads, everyone would win.

Well, except Anora and Howe, but they'd already betrayed their King. Sereda wasn't betraying anybody but those who'd already done her wrong. At least Bhelen's whore's sister was dead.

She snuggled up against her new pet, smiling to herself. There was no way this could go wrong; knowing the depth of Duncan's feelings for the Duster, news of her death would kill him. Sten was obedient; Shale could be placated by a promise of killing every pigeon in the kingdom; Daveth a short-sighted thug more interested in living than dying; and Riordan could be killed easily enough.

And when it was done, Sereda would be the greatest Paragon since Aeducan himself.

…

"_Mierdo."_

Zevran Arainai came to for the second time today, feeling a burning in his veins and a distant murmuring in his mind that told him he would have been better off dead in the ambush. He sat up slowly, rubbing his head with a shaking pale hand, and looked around at the scattered bodies. It appeared he wasn't the only one to survive; Morrigan, the witch, was already hard at work trying to heal the dwarven woman Brytta as the golden-haired berserker groaned in pain. The dog was still and the two other Wardens, the blonde dwarven woman and the dead King's bastard brother, were missing. Both were royalty, as he understood it, and the Withered One had hinted at allies.

"Brytta will live, Cailan," Morrigan said reassuringly to the berserker. She looked at Zev with those eerie yellow eyes. "And it appears our assassin survived after all."

"Not for long," Cailan (wasn't that the name of the dead Fereldan King?) said flatly. "He's tainted."

Zev sighed, hearing the confirmation of his worst fears. He wanted to die, but not by darkspawn poisoning. "Please… if I must die, make my end quick."

"No." Cailan's refusal surprised the elf. "I will need your testimony to see my bitch of a wife hung."

"I am tainted and would rather not become a ghoul," Zev protested. "Otherwise – I would oblige you."

Cailan smiled and it wasn't a nice expression. "We Wardens… have a cure. And you are a good fighter. Consider yourself conscripted."

"Ah… If I refuse, what will you do? Kill me?" Zev retorted.

"You are swallowing that mixture whether you like it or not," Morrigan announced as she gestured, paralysing the elf. "Now, would you prefer to do it voluntarily or possibly die bound and helpless?"

Zev didn't have much choice. He muttered his agreement and found himself released from the spell with a white cup shoved at him. Apparently the decision had been made while he slept.

_"Join us, brothers and sisters. Join us in the shadows where we stand vigilant. Join us as we carry the duty that cannot be forsworn. And should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten. And that one day we shall join you."_ Cailan's voice was soft but sure as he spoke ritual words that unexpectedly touched Zevran. Sure, he was being forced into it, but at least they made his potential impending death sound meaningful.

And so the elf drank of the blood and fell into hideous, horrible nightmares. When he awoke again, his life was changed for all time.


	17. Heartbreak

Note: Thanks for the reviews. Time-skip; it's always tedious writing about the minutiae of 'A Paragon of Her Kind' so I will be glossing over the little bits. This chapter is happening about two months after 'Betrayal'. I apologise to all Duncan fans ahead of time. Theme song for Duncan's part of the chapter is Poets of the Fall's 'Stay' (chosen from a random fanfic I'd read, watched on YouTube, and realised it was perfect); lyrics included, but out of order to suit the story. I am also something of a Bhelen fangirl (not like _that_; I just like him as a character) so he's getting even more of a sympathetic treatment than usual.

…

**Part 17: Heartbreak**

_Morning comes slow today_

_Memories push through from yesterday_

_Where will I be tomorrow_

_What do I have to show_

_From my life_

"'Avoid high-stress situations', she said," Duncan growled as he stacked up scrolls from the Shaperate containing the rights and responsibilities due a Grey Warden. He had spent three, almost four months in this place, trying to get _somebody_ to actually authorise troops to march against the Blight without compromising the Grey Wardens' neutrality. But with blood on the streets, Brytta's old friends in the carta running amok and the two candidates for the throne holed up tighter than a pearl up a Revered Mother's arse, the Warden-Commander was running out of time and patience.

"You should have kept the Armaas with you," Sten rumbled as he polished Asala in the corner of the common room of the suite given to the four Grey Wardens and Shale. "She was, as is appropriate for a female, better at such tasks."

"Brytta and Sereda would have been at the heart of all this trouble," Duncan explained for the umpteenth time. "The nobles would have ignored the former because she's casteless and the latter would have us stuck in every intrigue from here to Ortan Thaig."

"We need to pick a candidate and back him," Daveth advised.

"And if I did that, who should I choose? Bhelen, the man who is marrying my lover's sister, or Harrowmount, who's calling for Sereda's exile to be lifted?" Duncan countered once more.

"Well, this sittin' on the fence shit ain't workin', Duncan," Daveth retorted. "I'd say Bhelen, mostly 'cause I like his ideas. An' who'd you rather please – Brytta or the bitch?"

"I find myself agreeing with Daveth," Riordan responded with a sigh. "Had I known how much trouble the princess would have been, I would have escorted her to the surface and left her there, not conscripted her."

"But this Bhelen also betrayed his sister and some say poisoned his father," Sten argued.

"Sten… you _know_ Sereda. Would ya want _her_ rulin' somethin'?"

"Good point." The Kossith returned to tending Asala. "Let us support this Prince."

Duncan took a deep breath as he felt his heartbeat speed up. Daveth was making some very good points… Maker's breath, he missed Brytta! He didn't realise how much of a balm she'd become until she was gone; he didn't realise how much he would miss the little things about her until they were no longer present.

His fingers clenched around the malachite griffin pendant she'd let him keep after her return from Ostagar. He needed her, he wanted her. That brief respite in Cloudfields was now the memory which sustained him through every tedious Assembly, every fruitless attempt to reach either Bhelen or Harrowmount, every trip to the surface town to see if news had come.

At least the civil war was going as well as such things could. Loghain was a national hero and military genius who knew the ins and outs of every force which opposed him; Fergus came from a respected family name and the second-highest noble house in the land. He expected them to take Denerim in a few months… which meant he needed to hurry up down here, get the treaty fulfilled, and get topside to be ready to confront the archdemon.

_Stay, _

_I need you here for a new day to break_

_Stay, _

_I want you near, like a shadow in my wake_

He needed to be near Brytta, to bury his face in her auburn hair as he buried himself in her. He wanted to see the looks on the Warrior and Noble Castes as the beautiful little dwarven woman wandered their precious Diamond Quarter in her Grey Warden leathers, malachite eyes shining with defiant pride. He… _wanted_.

It was the absolute worst thing a Warden-Commander could do, to fall in love with one of his recruits during a Blight. Riordan had lectured Duncan on it constantly with Sten adding his two bits and Daveth (the unsentimental marsh thief, of all people!) defending the part-Rivaini. Shale simply suggested crushing the faces of the Assembly, taking command of the dwarven forces, and taking them topside. The sad thing was that Duncan was beginning to think the idea reasonable…

_It's the little things, _

_little things, _

_little things, _

_that make the world._

Duncan had lost the emotional distance which made being Warden-Commander easier. For him the world now was auburn curls and a branded, scarred face, big green eyes and a careless mouth. He could gladly die for that so long as she lived. The sounds of an argument faded as he lost himself in the memory of him curled around her body beneath thick woollen blankets in Cloudfields…

A perfunctory knock on the door brought silence just before it swung open to reveal the Captain of Orzammar's Guard… and two faces that shouldn't have been here. Duncan rose from his seat as Alistair – a haggard, sad-eyed version with longer hair and a scruffy beard – and Sereda Aeducan entered. The princess looked grim but otherwise fine; Alistair appeared to have been dragged by his heels facedown through the Black City.

"The Dalish treaty's been fulfilled," the ex-templar said hollowly. "It only cost us most of our people."

Duncan's heartbeat increased more and he placed his hand on his chest, breathing quicker than he ought to. "What?"

Alistair's response was to break down into broken sobs. "Talking… darkspawn. Ambushed us. They – they – killed Cailan and Morrigan and Hjarta. Tortured Brytta until she died," he said in between bouts of weeping.

Duncan grabbed the edge of the desk. "No… Please no…"

Sereda's blue eyes glittered as she looked directly at the Warden-Commander. "I'm sorry, Warden-Commander, but it is true. I saw most of it."

"No… no… no…" Duncan began to shake, feeling his heart pound in his chest. "She can't. She can't. She can't."

"Duncan!" Riordan said sharply. "Get a hold of yourself!"

_"Fuck you! You're the one who told her she had to go away so she wouldn't affect the election!"_ Duncan roared at the Orlesian. _"You killed her as much as those fucking darkspawn did."_

"You are also one of two people alive who first encountered the talking darkspawn," Riordan responded mercilessly. "You cannot stop to mourn, Duncan. We have to end this farce here and now. Lend our support to Bhelen so we can get our troops."

Duncan's heart rate increased as he unleashed a wordless cry of raw fury and anguish. Red filled his vision as he screamed, the noise more heartrending than even that in the ruins of Ostagar.

_Flow with life down the drain_

_Memories and force of will sustain_

_Where will I be tomorrow_

_What will be left to show_

_From my life_

Duncan screamed until the rapid beat of his heart blended into one great throbbing agony. He heard someone in the distance say "Calm down!" but he was beyond caring. Riordan was here; let him take command. He couldn't bear it. He needed her. It wasn't life without Brytta.

_Stay, _

_I need you here for a new day to break_

_Stay, _

_I want you near, like a shadow in my wake_

He'd never welcomed pain and blackness so readily. He could almost touch her, almost smell the scent of leather and rosemary and dust, almost see the sunlight on her auburn hair…

…

Daveth was probably the only one _not _watching Duncan scream until he collapsed, face grey and anguished; instead he watched Sereda Aeducan from the corner of his eye. She had that smug look nobles and merchants got when they thought they'd achieved something sneaky without getting busted. No doubt what happened was the truth; Alistair's anguish was too real. But that bitch had timed the news too damn well…

…And the ones who would have believed him were dead. As the Captain of the Palace Guard raced to find a healer, Daveth got Alistair sitting down with a shot of good old home-brewed potato spirits. The poor bastard was beside himself for causing Duncan so much pain; the Warden-Commander was like a dad to him.

_Fuckin' cow,_ he thought resentfully, shooting a glance discreetly at Sereda. The dwarven medics arrived with lightning rune-etched metal plates to start up Duncan's heart again; they managed to and then picked up the Warden-Commander carefully to carry him into his bedroom.

"_Merde,_" Riordan cursed softly and sadly. "This cannot happen now…"

"Well it has," Sten observed bitterly. "We must go on."

"He's right," Sereda said, a bit too quickly and eagerly for Daveth's comfort. If Duncan died, he was gonna cut that bitch's throat for killing the old bugger. Come to think of it, cutting it might be the best option for them all… "Which is why we need to approach Lord Harrowmount."

"Fuck off. Bhelen's the better choice," Daveth promptly retorted. "B'sides, reckon we owe it to Brytta to see her sister's man raised as high as we can, yeah?"

"We cannot allow… sentiment… to guide our decision," Riordan said, looking older than his late forties. The Senior Warden of Jader looked at the open door to Duncan's room and sighed bitterly. "Daveth, approach Bhelen's people; Sereda, you will be welcomed by Harrowmount's followers. Tell them the Wardens will support whoever can get them the treaty quickest… and find out what it will take from us to see it done."

Daveth readily agreed, deciding not to mention that he'd already approached and performed a favour for Bhelen to get access to the prince. The scout whistled for Fluffy, who came readily to heel. "Yo… Sten, come with me?"

"Gladly," the Kossith rumbled. "We must see this over."

It didn't take too long for the trio to find Vartag Galvorn and get an audience with the Prince; Bhelen was with Rica, watching his baby son with melancholy eyes. "We know, Warden-Scout Daveth," the blonde dwarf said with a long sigh, arm wrapped around the pretty bit that was Rica. Brytta's sister had tear-streaked cheeks and sniffled a bit but her green gaze was clear.

"Shoulda knifed that bitch-born sister of yours in the back, Highness," Daveth told him. "Brytta was worth ten of her… an' I intend to see you on the throne."

"Has Ser Duncan changed his mind?" Rica asked, her voice both sad and hopeful.

"That scream you mighta heard earlier was Duncan's reaction to the news of Brytta's demise… delivered by your sister usin' my buddy Alistair as the mouthpiece," Daveth replied flatly. "He's collapsed. We ain't sure what's gonna happen to him. Riordan's sent me to you an' Sereda to Harrowmount to see who can get us the treaties quicker… and what we need to do to see it done."

Bhelen lifted his head, eyes blazing with determination and pride. "Brytta was part of House Aeducan and if rumour is correct, Duncan was her chosen man. That makes him family too. People who fuck with my family fuck with me."

"That is well spoken… yet you betrayed your sister," Sten reminded the prince.

"Trian _was_ working against Sereda but he was so incompetent he wouldn't have gotten the job done right," Bhelen replied flatly. "I would have let them both scheme against each other… if Sereda hadn't ordered her flunky Gorim to drag Rica by her hair from the Palace. Rica was already pregnant with my child."

"Ah." Sten nodded. "I… cannot agree with your actions, Prince, but I understand. Rica is your mate and you have chosen to protect her. You were right to do so."

"So what do we need to do?" Daveth asked the Prince. And when Bhelen told him what had to be done, the scout grinned. Another blow for Brytta, the Duster who'd shown him one could be a street rat and still be more than she was. He was gonna love this.

…

"I will accompany you."

Sten of the Grey Wardens placed his hand on Daveth's shoulder as the scout turned for the path which would set their feet to Dust Town.

The scout looked back and grinned. "Was countin' on it. You don't like Sereda much… an' Brytta's our sister. We owe her this."

"She was my kadan, the one closest to the heart," Sten admitted simply. He had once found it difficult to place each of the Grey Wardens correctly… until he saw past what they _did_ to what they _were._

Duncan was Ben-Hassrath but so much more; he was Arishok and Besrathari and Tamassran and kadan to Sten's kadan, which made him worthy of leadership. The Kossith didn't quite understand the mixing of sex with love that the human and Brytta had done… but maybe because Grey Wardens couldn't breed, perhaps the rules were different for them. To lose him would be to lose the head of the Wardens.

Alistair and Cailan were arvaarad and karashok respectively, brothers in more than blood. If Duncan was the head, then they were the right and left arms; now the Wardens were one-armed, possibly armless if Alistair succumbed to despair over the loss of his friends and the potential death of his mentor. Sten wasn't sure how to handle that. The body needed all of its parts to function.

The witch Morrigan… The leashes on her had been more subtle than those on qunari mages; they were leashes of affection and loyalty she had no idea were in place. Sten… didn't trust her. But she'd died a Warden, serving her role, and he would honour her for that.

Daveth, once thought Tallis, was in reality the eyes and left hand of the Wardens. He was the only one to see clearly in this situation: this Bhelen was simply doing his duty as a husband when he 'betrayed' Trian and Sereda – and since Rica was obviously filling her purpose as a noble-hunter (providing children to the nobility), Sereda was in the wrong. Harrowmount was defying the correct order of things by seeking the throne.

"I trust that it was not going to crush faces without me," rumbled Shale, a companion who was swiftly becoming the closest of Sten's companions in the absence of she who found his soul.

"Good ta see ya," Daveth said cheerfully. "Eavesdroppin' again?"  
"Of course." The golem stretched its rocky limbs. "The red-haired dwarf Warden was reasonable company. I had to leave to avoid crushing the blonde dwarf and templar's faces for being so careless."

"Ease up on Alistair," Daveth told her. "Sereda's probably screwed with his head some way. You know he ain't none too bright."

"It might be correct." Shale heaved a rocky (of course) sigh. "Let us crush faces. It makes me feel better."

Sten followed them through the commons, looking at this place where Brytta hailed from. He saw desperation and fear in the eyes of the populace and wondered that so many people could live without purpose.

Dust Town was worse. That a… midden heap… could have produced Brytta was… shocking. Even evil. That Bhelen wanted to give the casteless greater rights and purpose alone made him an improvement over the conciliatory fool Harrowmount.

Daveth proved his worth as he sought out people Brytta had described; Sten remembered the dwarven armaas explaining who and what he should look for whilst in Dust Town. Sten felt ashamed that he had so casually assigned the thief as nothing more than bas, little better than that Tal-Vashoth in honourable clothing Sereda.

He missed the centre of his chest. The body could not function without the heart. And as the spine of the Wardens, it was his job to support them as they struggled against the darkspawn. But could a body with one hand, one arm and no head still function?

Sten was about to find out.


	18. Return

Note: Thanks for the reviews. I promise Sereda will get what's coming to her. Time for a bit of cuteness in the form of another Atrast Hjarta viewpoint… I also feel a bit sorry for Leske because he really did get screwed over in his choices, so a slightly better ending for him (no, he ain't becoming a Warden!) :) After 'Beautiful Monster', I didn't have the heart to continue screwing Alistair around, so he gets to see more of Sereda's true colours than he wanted to. :P _Hjarta af minn hjarta_ means 'heart of my heart' in Icelandic.

…

**Part 18: Return**

_The Deep Roads, Two Weeks Before_

"How would you like the kind of massage one only learns in an Antivan whorehouse?"

Atrast Hjarta sniffed the air and restrained a growl as the stupid painted two-legs tried to entice her short two-legs to mate. A mabari could smell if another hound had imprinted or mated; once again, two-legs proved themselves the inferior species by not having such a keen nose. Poor things. They needed mabaris to keep them from making stupid mistakes, like trying to steal each other's mates.

At least the dark-haired female mage two-legs and the light-haired bad-tempered two-legs were too busy mating with each other to get confused. Humans were always in season, which was probably why they were so silly; Brytta and her two-legs Duncan were worse than an alley full of cats!

Since the wrong-smelling bad two-legs with poisonous blood had attacked and the nasty bad short two-legs and the cheese-loving light-haired two-legs had vanished, Brytta had led them to the dark tunnels that reeked of wrong-smelling poisonous ones. Since she'd licked the cup that the stupid painted two-legs had drunk from and fallen into bad dreams, Atrast Hjarta realised she'd become like her two-legs and those who followed her. She ate lots and could sense the wrong-bad poisonous ones; their blood also didn't burn now. This was good – they should make all mabari drink this stuff because she got tired slower and never got sick now!

The hound had sniffed out a cache full of things which smelled like Brytta's leathers and Duncan's metal skin; now the stupid painted two-legs and the light-haired bad-tempered one wore the same sort of stuff as everyone else now. Humans didn't have keen noses to detect which one belonged to what pack so they needed visual clues, poor things. Kind of like kaddis for humans, though painting themselves would take a lot less time and not be as heavy. Silly two-legs!

Atrast Hjarta stared at the stupid painted two-legs until he got the picture and left her two-legs alone. Brytta was pining for her mate and worried about what all these 'talking darkspawn' were; she'd decided to go somewhere called 'Orzammar', which was where, the hound gathered, she'd been whelped.

The hound sighed and laid her head on her paws by the tiny fire which was boiling up some kind of mushy grain stuff. She got all the dried meat now, which wasn't good for the two-legs, and everyone was thinner since most of their supplies had gone with the two-legs Brytta hated and the cheese-lover. Maybe they should have found the dark-haired two-legs pack leader Loghain, but her two-legs wanted to return to her mate because he knew what to do… And Atrast Hjarta didn't want to admit it, but she was missing Fluffy. The wolf was useful to have around and they could sort-of communicate with yips and barks. And it was good to have another four-legs around.

Finally Brytta joined her and curled up under the ragged fur she was using as a combined blanket/cloak. Down here the wrong-smelling poisonous ones were closer and it felt bad but good; maybe the talking the light-haired bad-tempered two-legs did when the stupid painted two-legs became like them was right. As Atrast Hjarta understood it, in drinking the bitter bad-smelling poisonous blood, the pack her two-legs belonged to learnt how to sense them and this was how they knew how to kill them. But they were sort-of tied to the wrong-smelling poisonous pack now; the mabari figured it was like being half-wolf like her grandmother was.

They needed to find this Orzammar soon or things were going to be bad, the hound decided as she went to sleep. Her two-legs needed her mate and they needed to decide what to do about the smart wrong-smelling poisonous two-legs…

…

_Dust Town_

"So… those were 'carta thugs'. To call them 'Tal-Vashoth' would be a compliment," Sten observed as he wiped Asala clean on the dead Jarvia's cloak.

"But for the grace of the Ancestors, Brytta would have been amongst them," Leske answered after spitting on the dwarven woman's corpse. The Duster had been working for the carta (to survive after the whole Proving mess) until Daveth offered him ten gold sovereigns and an escort to the surface in return for fighting with them. His years in Denerim had shown him plenty of Leske's type: pay 'em well and they'd stick with you until they got a better offer. Jarvia couldn't match what Daveth offered: a better life.

"Your nobility are fools," the Kossith pointed out.

"An' in other news, Sereda Aeducan's a bitch," Daveth muttered, earning a snicker from Leske, who then frowned.

"Did that bitch have anything to do with Bryt's death?" he demanded.

"At the very least, she abandoned my kadan to torture and death," Sten rumbled. "And she is unworthy of being a Grey Warden."

"Huh. Sap to the back of a head, convenient lava flow behind Tapster's…" Daveth smirked at Leske's practical solution. "Ah, wishful thinking. So, what now?"

"We head up to the Palace an' let a certain prince know what's goin' on," Daveth answered. "Sten, Shale, pick up our loot, 'kay?"

The Kossith and the golem gave identical sighs but obeyed. "This had better make Bhelen Arishok," Sten grumbled.

"I hope so too. Poor bastard's gettin' worn down by that bitch Sereda, I reckon. Harrowmount don't seem like a bad guy but he's dumber than a pack of templars high on lyrium."

"He'll be bad news for us Dusters," Leske agreed. "Why don't these dumbfucks sort it out in the Proving?"

"Because Harrowmount can't fight for shit," Daveth said with a grin.

"Its face should be crushed so that the red-haired dwarven Warden's sister's partner rules," Shale suggested helpfully.

"I like him," Leske said, jerking a thumb at the golem.

"So do we," Sten said. "But let us go to the Palace and deliver this news."

They followed the hidden path to the back of Janar Armourers, giving the shopkeeper such a fright he pissed himself and fainted. Daveth might or might not have palmed a handful of sovereigns for the smith's kid Dagna so she could go study magic at the Circle; every father should support his kid's ambitions after all.

Oghren, the missing Paragon Branka's husband, stumbled out of Tapster's; Daveth gave him the finger for being a rude prick the other week when they'd asked after his missus. "Sod off, Duster!" the drunken dwarf retorted as he staggered to a comfortable spot behind the tavern and collapsed. Leske promptly rifled through his pockets for a handful of copper bits and bottle of Valenta's Red ale. Sten sighed, Shale grunted and Daveth smirked. Oghren didn't even wake up.

Fluffy returned from pissing on a wall carving, tongue lolling in a wolfish grin. The wolf was a heck of a lot smarter than the humans gave him credit for; even put up with Brytta's mouthy little bitch Hjarta. _Like mistress, like mutt,_ Daveth thought sadly as they crossed the path which led to the Proving… only to run into Sereda and an ashen-faced Alistair, both of them splattered in blood.

"We just fought in the Provings for Lord Harrowmount," Sereda announced. "We're on our way to meet him. You'll need to come along to prove yourselves on Harrowmount's side."

"So… You're Sereda Aeducan." Leske's voice was flat as he stared down the ex-princess.

"Indeed… _brand_. Who are you to dare address me?" Sereda demanded.

"Leske. I got a question for you."

"…Don't tell me we're recruiting _more_ Dusters," Sereda told Daveth. "Look what the last one did!"

"As I was asking, what's it like being lower than a deepstalker's asshole?" Leske continued. "You killed your brother, left fellow Grey Wardens to die… That's cold. Even by _Duster_ standards."

Sereda's blue gaze hardened as Alistair, the poor grieving sap, stared at Brytta's friend. "Who the fuck are you to judge me, you casteless fuck?" she shrieked angrily, drawing the attention of the Captain of the Guard.

"Dumb as you are treacherous, I see. I'm Leske, Brytta's best friend. So tell me, bitch, why you left the best thing outta Dust Town to be killed by darkspawn? Brytta wouldn't have left _you_ behind, even if she hated your ass."

"I don't have to explain myself to you, Duster!" Sereda shrieked.

"Sereda, calm down," Alistair advised hollowly, placing a hand on the ex-princess's shoulder – only to have it slapped off.

"Shut up, moron!" Sereda snarled at him before turning to glare at Leske.

"Nice girlfriend you got there," Leske told the ex-templar, who was staring at the exiled Aeducan with a hurt, stunned expression. "Have you considered fucking a bronto? I reckon the experience would be more pleasurable."

"Guard, I demand this man's head on a pike!" Sereda shrieked to the Captain of the Guard.

"Kinslayers don't get to demand shit, even if they're Grey Wardens," was the stony reply.

"Fuck you! When Harrowmount is King I will see you fucking dead."

"Why would the Captain of the Guard fuck you when even Gorim, your 'loyal second', couldn't wait to get topside and marry somebody else?" Leske asked the pissed-off blonde dwarven woman.

"What? Gorim, that unfaithful fuck!"

"Not my place to judge you Wardens, but why in the name of the Ancestors did you recruit her?" the Captain asked as Sereda descended into full frothing rage which Daveth admittedly found quite entertaining. "I thought you lot had better taste than that… even that brand who won the Proving was better than that kinslaying bitch."

"Don't blame me," Daveth protested. "It was Riordan's idea."

"But the Warden-Commander allowed it," Sten observed. "I will be telling him 'I told you so' when he awakes."

Alistair, who'd been just staring at the ranting Sereda, took a deep, shuddering breath. "I… will go check on Duncan, then see Lord Harrowmount. Can you believe Bhelen had blackmailed two of the Lord's champions… and had somebody spread forged papers implicating Harrowmount in a crooked land deal?"

Daveth resisted the urge to whistle innocently and instead said, "I'll check on Duncan; was headin' to the Palace anyways. Go see Harrowmount, yeah?"

The ex-templar gulped and nodded. "What about… Sereda?"

"Cap'n, that woman's bein' a public nuisance. Don't suppose you could shove her in a cell for the night?" Daveth asked the Captain of the Guard.

"Preferably the nice common one with the big leak and single latrine," Leske suggested smoothly. Daveth concealed a grin; he liked the Duster's style!

"Is he conscripted?" the Captain asked of Daveth, pointing to Leske.

"Nah, he's the friend of a Grey Warden who helped us sort a mess in Dust Town an' we've agreed to take him topside," Daveth replied quietly.

"Fine. Just keep him out of trouble and away from the nobles." The Captain had two of his men grab Sereda after Sten forcibly disarmed her. Then they left; Alistair sighed and ran a hand through his shaggy hair.

"I… need to be alone. Please?"

Leske handed him the bottle of Valenta's Red. "Help yourself, Duster. Brytta'd return from the Stone if I didn't help out a friend of hers."

"I… thanks. You must be Leske. She talked a lot about you." Alistair tucked the bottle away. "I'll… see Harrowmount. See if I can talk him into compromise or something." The ex-templar headed towards Tapster's Tavern, where Dulin Forender was waiting for him (or so Leske's friend Olinda had said).

"And that, salroka, is how you get somebody to fuck up beyond all recognition and destroy their credibility," Leske drawled.

Daveth grinned at the Duster. "Thanks. I'd'a liked to knife that bitch-born hag… but we didn't really have that option."

Leske inclined his head. "Brytta taught me how to do that. She was… always better than the rest of us. Whatever she did, it was for her family. Me? I'm just some worthless Duster."

"You have more honour than you realise," Sten told the dwarf. "My kadan valued you. So you therefore are of worth."

"It provided me with some entertainment," Shale agreed. "Now, shall we deliver the news to the Prince?"

"Let's go," Daveth decreed as they headed for the Diamond Quarter.

…

It had been so long since she saw light that the lava flows of Orzammar's commons made Brytta blink owlishly and rub her eyes as they reached the entrance to the mines. The commander swore and turned around with his sword drawn, only to curse again when he realised they were Grey Wardens in bad shape. "Get a fucking medic!" he told one of his troops.

"Does this usually happen to Grey Wardens on coming to Orzammar?" Zevran asked, remarkably chipper for someone who'd been reduced to eating raw deepstalker over the past week.

"No, they are usually met with fanfare and a feast," Cailan answered. "Not that a feast sounds half-bad right now."

"A handful of acorns, boiled with mint leaves until they are tender, served on a bed of wild greens with a haunch of rabbit would be a feast," Morrigan said wistfully.

"Gimme a slice of nug and a bottle of dirt-ale and I'm good," Brytta mumbled. "Come t' think of it, Alistair's cooking would be really good right now."

"I can get something for you to drink from Tapster's, Wardens," the mines commander offered before staring at Brytta's brand. "…Fuck, you're the brand who won the Proving! I'd heard you were dead, killed by darkspawn."

Brytta raised her head quickly as the others gasped. "What do you mean?"

"Your fellow Wardens – that crazy kinslaying bitch Sereda Aeducan and the templar guy – reported you tortured to death by darkspawn," the mines commander promptly replied. "Your Warden-Commander had a heart attack when he received the news."

Brytta gasped, tears springing to her eyes. "Duncan… Oh Ancestors, is he - is he…" She couldn't bring herself to say it aloud.

"He's alive. More than that, I don't know." The mines commander looked torn between respect and wanting to despise the Duster before him. "I think you'd better get to the Palace as soon as possible. Harrowmount's people are likely to want to try and kill you to strike a blow at Bhelen."

"And you have no wish to be part of it?" Zevran asked shrewdly.

"We've got enough blood on the streets…" The mines commander sighed. "Harrowmount's people are desperate after the kinslayer went crazy in the commons; Warden Daveth had to ask the Captain of the Guard to restrain her in a jail cell for the safety of everyone else."

"Heard some brand named Leske drove her to it," muttered a guard.

Cailan snickered as Brytta leant against Zevran's side; even Morrigan couldn't heal weakness from a lack of food. Thankfully the medic arrived with a couple important-looking Palace people, a few guards carrying stretchers… and Sten and Shale.

"Kadan!" the Kossith exclaimed, his deep voice full of disbelief. "Are you some unquiet ghost returned to haunt us?"

"Nope," Brytta said, bracing herself against the wall to try and stay upright. "Duncan… he lives?"

"Yes." Sten smiled subtly. "He will awake, I am told. As the heart returns, the head awakens; the right arm returns to be paired with the left; the spine will support the body of the Wardens; the eyes always saw clearly."

"A Qunari Warden… How quaint," Zevran observed dryly.

Sten looked to the elf. "Another Warden? I did not know others were coming."

"I am Junior Warden Zevran," the assassin responded. "Formerly of the Antivan Crows… until I tried to kill these people on the order of Queen Anora, wound up getting tainted in the darkspawn ambush which followed, and was then promptly conscripted."

"Hmm. At least you will kill with purpose, hand of the Wardens," Sten rumbled. "At least you were more honest in your treachery than that Tal-Vashoth… Whom I will execute for her treason."

Brytta smiled weakly. "That's Duncan's call, not yours, Sten."

"Of course, kadan." The Kossith looked to Shale. "I will take vanguard, you rearguard. I trust none not from our Order or House Aeducan."

"It tells me something I already know," Shale retorted. "I am glad to see the gem-carver again. I have new augmentation crystals to be installed and it must help me."

"Of course, Shale," Brytta replied with a smile as she was helped onto a stretcher and picked up by two guards. One of the important-looking men, a dark-bearded dwarf in silverite armour, came over to smile down at her.

"Warden-Ensign Brytta, I'm Vartag Galvorn, Prince Bhelen's second," he greeted. "I was sent by Bhelen and Rica to see it was truly you. They'll be glad to hear it's for real."

"I'm glad to know your Prince has good taste in women," Brytta replied with a faint smile. Then she sighed. "Is it true Duncan will awake?"

"Aye. The best royal healer is tending him." The warrior easily kept pace with the stretcher; in the end, only Brytta needed one, and that was mostly because of the injuries she'd sustained in the ambush and the Deep Roads. "We're going to be needed to be briefed on these… 'talking darkspawn'. Please tell me it's a lie of Sereda's."

"Wish I could, salroka," Brytta said regretfully. "…Is Alistair okay? If he's done anything wrong, that bitch screwed with his head."

Vartag nodded. "Nothing beyond believing in the wrong person. I gather Sereda found him useful because he's Theirin blood." The dwarf looked over at the limping Cailan, who was supporting Morrigan, who'd refused a stretcher. "So, both Theirins Grey Wardens. Can see why there's trouble topside."

"We've got Loghain and Fergus Cousland fighting Howe on the surface," Cailan told the second. "How close is this election to being sorted out?"

"Honestly, it's fifty-fifty," Vartag admitted softly. "People are supporting Harrowmount because he's the more traditional candidate… or the one who might be more easily controlled."

"That's sort of why they made me King," Cailan admitted wryly. "Well, that and my Theirin blood."

They entered the Diamond Quarter, nobles and servants gawking and whispering as the group passed by. "So much for staying neutral," Brytta sighed. No doubt all this political shit had driven Duncan to the point of a heart attack and then the news of her death…

"A strange thing to hear from you, Warden," Vartag observed with some surprise.

"Don't get me wrong: I support Bhelen because he's my sister's man and we Broscas stick by our own – even Ma when she's drunk," Brytta replied. "But… we're _supposed_ to be neutral. It sucks, but if the Wardens can't be trusted to stay out of political crap, how can we be trusted to bring the nations together to fight the darkspawn during a Blight?"

"…I understand your reasoning, if not agree with it," Vartag said quietly. "I assume that was why you and Sereda Aeducan were left topside?"

"Yeah…" Brytta sighed. "But neutrality's not an option during this Blight. Not with all the political shit that's been stirred up." A hideous, horrible thought occurred to her but she kept her yap shut. It was something to discuss with Duncan in complete privacy.

Vartag nodded as they entered the Palace. "Indeed. Your Alistair supports Harrowmount; we're not certain if it's Sereda's influence or the fact that the templar's basically a good lad, but none too bright… though he might be a bit wiser now Sereda called him a moron in front of everyone and you are now alive. Riordan is trying to play both sides to see who will fulfil the treaty quickest; a tactic I understand, but it's aggravating. Daveth and Sten support Bhelen; the thief actually did us a favour or two from the beginning."

"I do not agree with Bhelen's tactics but I understand his reasons," Sten rumbled.

"I suggested we crush the usuper's face but no one ever listens to me," Shale complained.

Vartag chuckled. "Sorry. It's a practical solution but the Assembly would shit enough bricks to close the Deep Roads."

"I could crush their faces too," Shale offered helpfully.

"Is it just me or do we all like the way you think, Shale?" Cailan asked with a grin.

"It is because most Grey Wardens obviously come from superior stock than most fleshly creatures," Shale promptly said. "I do not experience the urge to crush their faces so often."

"…Thanks," Cailan said wryly.

"You are welcome, berserker."

They came to a set of doors emblazoned with the rampant griffin of the Grey Wardens where Daveth waited outside, a big grin on his face. "Damn girl, you got timin'," the scout said cheerfully. "Guess who just woke up?"

"The head knows when the heart is near," Sten told him.

"Sten, this body stuff is creepin' me out," Daveth pointed out.

"One would think the eyes would see more clearly," the Kossith continued with the subtle glint to his violet eyes that Brytta knew meant he was screwing with somebody.

"Fuck you!"

_He's not going to mate with you. You love wolves. How often do I need to tell you this?_ Atrast Hjarta barked.

"Great. The mutt survived," Daveth muttered.

Brytta ignored them as the stretcher was carried into the bedroom where Duncan, far too pale and with more grey in his hair, lay in a mound of pillows. But his dark eyes were open and alert as he raised his right hand towards her. _"MaHábba,"_ he whispered. "Have you… come for me? Have I died then?"

Brytta reached out, her fingers just touching his. "No, _hjarta af minn hjarta_. I am… home."

"Stay."

"Until the Stone calls us, I will," she promised.

Their fingers interlaced and it was enough.


	19. Family

Note: Thanks for the reviews and alerts. If you have any particular way Sereda should die, please let me know in reviews. :) I am also putting a slightly different interpretation on the events of the Dwarven Noble Origin and Endrin's subsequent death. Incidentally, I'm assuming 'vash' means 'grey', hence Arivashok is roughly 'leader of the Grey War'; Sten's cobbled together title for Duncan as Warden-Commander… (My qunari sucks, I know). Also, I'm screwing with canon in a major way for Duncan; if Fiona can be cured of the taint just by removing an amulet, then Duncan's immunity to the accelerated Calling because of the dagger he stole can extend his life. ;) I am also thinking that if Morrigan can alter her own shape, she could come up with a healing/shapeshifting spell which can strengthen body parts. :)

…

**Part 19: Family**

Prince Bhelen of House Aeducan clasped his new sister's forearm in greeting, impressed by the wiry musculature and direct malachite-green gaze that would have done any Warrior Caste woman proud. Brytta Brosca was gaunt from her recent travails, more scars than any dwarf her age should possess lacing her pale, freckled skin, but she sat straight with more than pride and purpose: this was a woman who knew her worth and had found her place. If the Prince was any judge of character, he knew that Brytta was the sort of Grey Warden they'd write legends about. Ancestors forgive him, but he prayed it wouldn't be as the slayer of the archdemon; if he came to the throne, he would need her support.

He clasped Duncan's forearm in a similar greeting, the Warden-Commander's grip still strong despite his recent heart attack. The dark-skinned human would have made a formidable King, Bhelen reflected, grateful that this man was no rival in the race for the throne. He would be glad to call this man kin, cloudhead or not; Duncan rarely gave his loyalty but when he did, it was total.

"I am sorry that circumstances have forced you to abandon your neutrality," Bhelen told the two Wardens as he sat back in the cushioned chair placed by the sickbed they shared. Rica and Endrin were there as well, sitting on the other side of the wide bed of imported surfacer wood, the mother breastfeeding her baby. The Prince spared his wife-to-be a fleeting smile; he'd spent all his days expecting to marry a Helmi, Dace, Bemot or even Harrowmount, not find his heart amongst the casteless noble-hunters who thronged around every eligible male. But the politics of the Noble Caste disgusted him even as he utilised its tactics; Bhelen refused to be a hypocrite and mouth words of honour when he did what he had to for Orzammar. Ancestors willing it wouldn't cost anything more than his own life should he fail in this most important of duties.

"It is alright," Duncan observed with a sigh. "We've been forced to side with the anti-Howe forces since a bounty was put upon us topside; I should have realised something similar would happen down here."

"Prince," Brytta suddenly asked, her green eyes sharpening, "How secure is this part of the Palace?"

"No one who isn't an Aeducan loyalist or a Grey Warden is allowed within this wing," Bhelen assured her.

"Lock it down further. I want Zevran, Riordan, Alistair and Sereda out; Vartag, Sten, Shale, Daveth, Morrigan and Cailan here now." At the unspoken query in Duncan's eyes as Bhelen raised an eyebrow, the Duster added, "I've had a horrible suspicion I would rather _not_ bruited about, Your Highness."

"Is this like the time you knew that Warrior Caste was stalking and murdering noble-hunters?" Rica asked her sister.

"And the time that bitch down Nug-Piss Alley was adulterating her booze with black moss," Brytta confirmed. "Twice I've had feelings about things which threatened my family that turned out to be true; this is the third."

"Vartag!" When his second appeared, Bhelen issued the orders rapidly; the dark-bearded dwarf nodded and saw them carried out, much to his sister's loud complaints. Since she had been realised from the jail for being a public nuisance, Sereda had been sweet as a noble-hunter's kiss. But even the poor bastard Alistair who'd… well, believed she was getting better than she really was… watched her warily these days. Everyone knew that she'd lied about Brytta's death… but she couldn't be killed. It would prove Harrowmount's people right about Bhelen being a cold-blooded kinslayer.

He'd never expected the attempt to sow distrust between the unpopular heir Trian and the manipulative but popular second child Sereda would go so horribly right. He expected clumsily sent assassins on Trian's part and futile intrigues in Sereda's, not for the two to have a knockdown brawl in the middle of Aeducan Thaig after the mercenaries Bhelen had sent to secure the site for him had been surprised and murdered by Sereda's people. He hadn't expected Sereda to survive when he fetched his father to warn them of the trouble… At least Ivo and the scout had played their parts well in discrediting his sister further simply by telling the truth.

He never expected the news of his sister's exile to drive his father to suicide with Harrowmount as witness. Perhaps it was a punishment from the Ancestors for putting Rica above House Aeducan; if he lost, he'd already told his beloved to take Endrin and every jewel she owned topside with a command to Vartag to see them there. Now that Brytta and Duncan were here, he knew the Grey Wardens could escort them… and not even Sereda could touch them.

Once the Palace was secure and the appropriate people assembled, Brytta shifted within the confines of Duncan's embrace and sighed. "Daveth, remember when we speculated at the Tower of Ishal that the darkspawn might have known of the plan to use a beacon and thus taken over the building?"

"'Course I do," the scout replied grimly. "An' Alistair said it wasn't possible 'cause they weren't that smart."

"Well… They are. The ones that ambushed us used the distraction of Zevran's assassination attempt to prepare… and somehow concealed their nature from our senses." The Duster woman's face was pale and resolute.

"There is one such known as the Architect who managed to manipulate two Warden-Commanders and a Silent Sister turned Warden to its side, make an alliance with an Orlesian First Enchanter to trap King Maric, and wanted to put the entire population of Thedas through the Joining so that the survivors would be immune to the taint… and would have no more reason to war with darkspawn," Duncan confirmed grimly. "Of the group who went to find Warden-Commander Bregan in the Deep Roads after he went to his Calling, only I, an elven mage called Fiona and King Maric survived… and the Architect and his ally Utha escaped."

"By the Stone-cursed tits of my mother's mothers," Rica breathed. "I… could see nobles who'd agree to an alliance with such a creature if it meant the end of our ancient war."

"As could I," Bhelen agreed flatly once he could find the voice to speak. "Harrowmount himself wouldn't, I'll give him that, but those who have lost kin in the Deep Roads… Oh aye." The Prince took a deep breath and released it in an explosive sigh. "Even I, if the creature agreed to retreat to the Deepest of the Roads so we could reclaim the thaigs…"

"A sympathetic goal to be certain, but the methods of achieving it…" Duncan shook his head grimly. "The Grey Wardens agreed that because of the taint and its effect on life, there could be no negotiation. We will fight the Architect to the death."

"If there's a third party with every reason to see the gathering of the treaties to fail involved in the political structure, we have no choice but to find the one force in Orzammar which could turn the election our way," Bhelen finally said after a moment's thought. "The Paragon Branka."

"Paragons are Qunoran Vehl – living Ancestors, living examples – to the dwarves," Brytta promptly explained to Sten. "Branka's word could exceed even that of a King's."

"She's also an anti-social lunatic obsessed with the smith Caridin's ancient technology," Vartag added sourly. "But we've got no choice."

"What if she reckons Harrowmount's better?" Daveth asked. "Not beggin' trouble, but we gotta think of that possibility."

"Then she needs to remain in the Deep Roads – for who are we to argue with the decision of a Paragon?" Bhelen said with a regretful sigh.

"And then we crush the deshyrs' faces and take over," Shale suggested helpfully. "I don't understand why it hasn't taken this option yet."

"I will have to become a tyrant worse than anything the Assembly has painted me in order to save Orzammar; at the Shaperate's projected rates, we will be dead within the century if we don't change," Bhelen continued flatly. "We _need_ the casteless and help from topside to push back the darkspawn."

"If you fail, we'll take Rica and the kid topside," Brytta promised.

"I know… sister. But thank you." Bhelen sighed. "I am sorry to ask you to sully your hands, Grey Wardens, but I need you to brave the Deep Roads and find Branka."

"Agreed," Duncan said tersely. The Warden-Commander rubbed his bearded chin thoughtfully. "Shale, I know I am no commander of yours, but I would ask that you be part of the expedition to the Deep Roads. You are tireless and vigilant."

"I will go," the golem consented easily.

"Sten, you will also go. You have command experience and are our doughtiest fighter." Duncan's dark eyes met the Kossith's violet ones. "Take Sereda with you; I trust your judgment in what to do with her."

"Indeed, Arivashok," Sten agreed with a subtle smile. "Will Alistair come?"

"No, I want to wean that boy off Sereda's influence," Duncan said with a sigh. "I intend to send him topside to support Loghain."

Bhelen nodded approvingly. The ex-templar wasn't a bad sort but he was awfully naïve and trusting. And the qunari looked pragmatic enough to execute Sereda in some discreet way.

"Daveth: you are our best survivalist," Duncan continued.

"On it. Up for a trip to the Deep Roads, Fluffy?"

The wolf whined his dissatisfaction and Atrast Hjarta rubbed her muzzle against his flank sympathetically.

"Morrigan… I would feel easier having a mage with those seeking Branka-"

"Do not be stupid!" the witch interrupted. "You are sending three of our best fighters. You will need me to make up for that."

"Duncan, me, Cailan, Morrigan and Zevran aren't up to going back so soon," Brytta agreed softly. "And if it comes to the worst, Morrigan has enough firepower to decimate any opposition on a run to the surface."

"You should not separate the witch and her kadan," Sten agreed. "And he needs to remain – for he was once a King."

"Not that I remember paying much attention," Cailan quipped. Bhelen stifled a chuckle; gone was the gloryhound Prince steeped in fairy tales and driven to escape his father's shadow. In his place was a competent Grey Warden.

The Warden-Commander accepted the revision of his plans with good grace, a fact which impressed Bhelen to no end. The Wardens who had effectively been lounging about in Orzammar were now facing danger whilst those who needed the rest would (hopefully) have the time to heal.

"I am in your debt: take what you need from the Palace stores," the Prince offered with a bow of his head. "But what of Riordan?"

"…He will need to stay here and learn certain things only the Warden-Commanders know," Duncan said with a sigh. "My heart is weak and I will have to prepare for the possibility of my death."

Bhelen waited for Brytta to make some kind of protest but when he looked at his beloved's sister, all he saw was a grim determination leavened by sorrow in her malachite gaze. It was then and there he realised the sacrifices required of a Grey Warden to combat the Blight and resolved that he would do all he could to make certain none of it was in vain.

And if Harrowmount couldn't see that, then may the Ancestors have mercy on them all… because the darkspawn wouldn't.

…

For the first time in her life, Morrigan regretted a lack of family. Once she would have perceived any sister as a potential rival at best or downright enemy at worst, but seeing the Brosca sisters together made her heart ache in ways she truly did not wish to admit. Their mother Kalah was a piece of work equal to Flemeth in cruelty and vitriol yet the dwarven women had stuck together through thick and thin, whoring and fighting for each other. And Rica, Bhelen's consort, was one of those soft-hearted creatures who existed to be taken advantage of… according to Flemeth.

But Morrigan, on reading the book Brytta had stolen from Irving's study in the Circle of Magi's tower, had come to believe her mother was wrong about many things. And she intended to do something about the possessive (in every sense of the word) bitch (no offence to the dog) soon. No doubt the Grey Wardens would agree because if she could get her mother's true grimoire, then she would be more adept at fighting darkspawn.

The witch pressed her hands to Duncan's chest and examined him using the few healing spells she possessed. What she sensed was remarkable: despite being close to the age of the Calling, the level of taint in his body was little more advanced than any of the other Wardens except Riordan, who was positively riddled with it. She chose to keep this revelation to herself as she wished to investigate it further. The Warden-Commander's heart was strengthening every day; Morrigan was expending massive amounts of mana to remove the fats which clogged the arteries and restore the heart muscles to peak condition. It was simple practicality, she told herself, as he was a mighty warrior and commander and therefore necessary for survival.

As was her… alliance… with Cailan. The ex-King was less biddable than his brother but also by far less tiresome; quite virile in bed too. He did not insult her by assuming she needed protection and coddling yet she… trusted him… at her back.

'Twas strange, this feeling of being _trusted_ the Grey Wardens automatically granted her. She knew they would find her useful and she had to admit that each had their use (except Sereda)… but she had not expected trust and even affection from them. Even Sten, the qunari, trusted in her feelings for Cailan to keep her 'leashed' as he described it; for the sake of peace within their group, she chose not to take offence at his assumptions. And how odd was that?

"Something's on your mind," Duncan observed as she removed her hands and dusted them off. "Is it something I can help with?"

"'Tis of little concern to you," Morrigan assured him airily.

"If it is enough to worry you, little sister, then it _is_ my concern… and not simply because you are a Warden," Duncan responded gently. "You are part of our family, Morrigan."

"A family… Such a strange thing," the witch mused. "A group of individuals, usually bound by blood, that holds itself together through some strange alchemy of emotion and social expectations that can be detrimental to survival or even common sense!"

Duncan's dark eyes crinkled at the corners as he chuckled softly. "You could have flown away any time you wished. Yet you remain."

"My mother sent me," Morrigan reminded him, feeling somewhat uncomfortable. Why did he have to question her?

"Yeah, and my mother told me to jump in a lava flow plenty of times but I ignored her," Brytta called out with a grin.

"Your mother's orders were counter to survival," Morrigan told the dwarf. "It made sense to ignore them."

"Maybe it is my awesome prowess as a lover?" Cailan asked, sticking his head into Duncan and Brytta's bedroom. Morrigan looked at him and realised the broad-shouldered blond had the hopeful look similar to Atrast Hjarta begging for cheese in his eyes.

"'Tis part of it, I will concede," she found herself saying; his blue eyes shone brilliantly at the compliment.

"You chose to take the Joining when you could have flown away and rejoined us after the battle at Ostagar," Duncan pointed out gently. "You defied your mother to remain with us, little sister. You even dragged Brytta back and spared Zevran when it would have been easier to abandon them to the darkspawn."

"So tell us what's up your ass or I'll have to engage in a good old tickle-fight," Brytta threatened.

"Tickle-fight?" Morrigan asked, now bemused.

"Yup. I'd tickle Rica half to death and she'd tell me anything just to get me to stop it." Brytta grinned at the stunned witch. "So spill."

Why was she stalling when they'd given her such a clear opening? "I have… discovered… how my mother extends her life," Morrigan began, her voice actually faltering. She could not believe this, even from Flemeth – though she should have expected it. "I am… to be… possessed."

Duncan lost the kindly look, his dark eyes hardening. "Brytta told me that the way Flemeth commended you to our care… concerned… her," the Warden-Commander said softly. "'My most precious possession'."

"Seriously, it was creepier than a ninety-year-old man at a noble-hunters' convention," Brytta agreed. "So… I take it we are going to have to return to the Korcari Wilds and see if evil immortal witches can be killed?"

"I…" Morrigan stared at the dwarf, stunned with her mouth open like a yokel's. "How… did… you guess?"

"It's what _I'd_ do," the Duster pointed out dryly.

"I… cannot be there. I… am fearful that should I be present, she could simply slip into my body," Morrigan confessed, feeling oddly ashamed at asking her companions to do the dirty work.

"A reasonable fear to have," Cailan observed, wrapping his arms about her. Morrigan was surprised to find herself comforted by the gesture.

"Question is… do we do it now while the others are away or take our chances and wait until they return?" Brytta asked of the Warden-Commander.

"If we take the Deep Roads to Cloudfields, it will take three weeks and then another two to Ostagar," Duncan sighed. "Sten's squad have been gone for two weeks."

"If the Shaperate's correct, it will take about four weeks to get to Ortan Thaig," Brytta pointed out. "So… just over two months to get there and back?"

"Two and a half months, aye." Duncan sighed again. "Riordan is going to shit a brick."

"I… could speed up the process," Morrigan confessed. "I… can… create charms which alter shape." The witch smiled sharply. "My mother did not teach me how to do _that_."

"That would make it about… two weeks," Brytta observed, a shadow of fear returning to the dwarf's gaze as she no doubt recalled her experience in the Fade.

"Alright… Duncan, how's your heart?" Cailan asked.

"I'm not sure I'm up to fighting an abomination," Duncan answered wryly. "Morrigan?"

"It is stronger than you think. I will work on healing it utterly this night," Morrigan responded, her voice strangely thick. The Wardens were going to risk their lives for her, just on her word! Was she so useful?

Brytta swallowed thickly. "Can you… umm… make dwarves birds?"

"…Yes."

"Good. If Duncan's going, so am I. Zev, me, Duncan, Cailan."

"I am sorry, I do not recall volunteering for this," the elf said from the corner he'd secreted himself in.

"Hey, if you kill Flemeth, could you imagine the Crows' reaction?"

"…I hate you," the assassin said with a sigh. "Very well, I will go."

"By the way, we are _never_ going to tell Shale about this," Brytta added with a grin. "Can you imagine his reaction to finding out we became those flying pests?"

Cailan roared with laughter, the sound vibrating through Morrigan's body, as everyone else except Morrigan chuckled. "Why are you doing this?" she finally asked, desperate for the answer.

"Why wouldn't we?" Duncan asked, looking perplexed. "You are part of our family, little sister."

"…I… Thank you."

_So this then is what it is to have a family_, the witch thought as the others prepared themselves for a hard fight. It be disaster die before they achieved their mission of slaying the archdemon… yet they were going to risk their lives for her.

By all the powers old and dark, what was she going to do if they died? For the first time in her life, Morrigan found herself worrying about the safety of people other than herself.

And that was… most unsettling.


	20. Purpose

Note: Thanks for the reviews! It's actually becoming easier to write Sten as time goes on. My Wardens are also getting fairly high-level by this time, so my version of Cailan has picked up the Reaver specialisation in addition to Berserker; I'm justifying it by him swallowing the High Dragon's blood during their little brawl. Zev, Brytta and Cailan are level 14; Duncan is level 21, for those who care, and hence has three specialisations to the others' two.

…

**Part 20: Purpose**

"One day, Asala, we will come here to die."

Sten wiped off the darkspawn blood that befouled his soul's blue-steel blade and sighed with discontent. Once again the body of the Wardens was divided: the eyes and the spine were deep in the Roads, the head, the heart, the left arm and the left hand remaining in Orzammar, and the right arm upon the surface with the wit. In the light of a bonfire fuelled by the bodies of the genlocks slain in their foray into Ortan Thaig, the Tal-Vashoth Sereda was speaking to the drunken warrior Oghren, husband of the dwarven Qunoran Vehl Branka, in the syrupy tones she had employed with Alistair before they were separated. If she thought to find a reliable ally in the form of the red-headed dwarf, she would be gravely disappointed: the warrior was competent enough but shame and drink made him useless in anything other than a fight.

Thankfully Sten had Daveth, Fluffy and Shale on his side; the scout was feeding his wolf genlock bones (the beast had developed a similar immunity to darkspawn taint as Brytta's hound) while the golem had graciously agreed to take watch so the others could rest. On this trip, the construct had become close to his heart for its understanding of the Qun and the sarcastic sense of humour they shared; it arced with lightning from the small and large flawless crystals Brytta had outfitted it with before sending them on their way.

Sten resheathed his soul in her back-scabbard, scrounged up by Brytta, and wondered how he was going to fulfil the unspoken command Duncan had given him concerning the Tal-Vashoth. Simply executing her could not happen as she was intimately tied to this Lord Harrowmount, a contender for the duty of the dwarven Arishok, and many of the Assembly were refusing to accept Prince Bhelen as the ruler. But Sereda was a danger, a tumour, to the body of the Wardens and needed to be excised sooner rather than later. He wished Brytta or Duncan had come along… or even Zevran, who was said to be a pure Tallis.

"Maker, hope we find soddin' Branka soon," Daveth observed as Sten joined him. The scout was roasting the corpses of the deepstalkers they'd killed earlier since neither Sereda nor Oghren could cook. Morrigan was a far superior cook (likely her proper place had she not been a mage and Warden) but Daveth was more acceptable than Alistair as a provider of food.

"Indeed." Truth be told, the idea of intelligent darkspawn was worrying Sten more than the Kossith would admit to anyone but Shale, Duncan or Brytta. Was this a new development of the archdemon's or just some vile quirk of nature which promised this Blight would be worse than any before it? Sten couldn't say, but he wanted to locate the Paragon and return to Orzammar as soon as possible.

Sten didn't believe in gods but he spared a moment to pray to whatever benevolent spirits might be listening, perhaps even the Stone which the dwarves held so dear. Then he touched Asala's hilt and grabbed a hunk of roast deepstalker, still hot from the fire, to eat. His purpose was to end the Blight. He would see it done.

…

Cailan went into freefall, the swampy ground rushing towards him as he screamed an eagle's cry of defiance and battle. The abomination that gave birth to his Morrigan stood outside her hut in a robe and headdress of dragon's skin and bones, no doubt expecting them. He felt the shapeshift kick in three feet above the earth, allowing him to land on his feet as Duncan, Brytta and Zevran followed suit; Atrast Hjarta landed in a tangle of paws and tail, yelping her displeasure at being a bird. But the dog wouldn't let her dwarven mistress go without her…

Alien yellow eyes regarded the quintet with wicked amusement. "So lovely Morrigan has found someone to dance to her tune! Such enchanting music she plays, does she not?"

Cailan bared his teeth in a berserker's grimace, feeding the fury which had roiled in his blood since he'd tasted the High Dragon's blood above Haven. The Ash Warriors' rage and the blood frenzy complemented each other nicely, he'd discovered, and the raw violence he displayed in battle was certainly appreciated by his fellow Wardens.

"Should we dance to your tune instead?" Duncan countered. Their plan had been simple: the Warden-Commander and Cailan would draw Flemeth's attention while Zevran and Brytta flanked the witch. Hopefully it would be effective.

"Why not sing instead?" Flemeth cackled. "Morrigan wants my grimoire? Let her have it. There are enough spells to make even she blush with delight!"

"And what of you?" Duncan pressed, uncannily calm in the face of a witch who could easily kill him. The Warden-Commander had come to replace Maric as a father figure to the Theirin boys; Cailan still mourned his dead father, but he was infinitely grateful to have found a new family in the Wardens… and a love in the hard but vulnerable Morrigan. Not that he'd tell her yet; he didn't want to scare her off.

"Maybe I will leave her be. Maybe I will surprise her. It should be enlightening to see what she does with her freedom." The witch cackled again. "She has surprised me before: a child of mine, a Grey Warden!"

"And there lies the problem, Flemeth," Duncan told the witch as he drew his sword and dagger, Cailan following suit with his greatsword. "She is a Grey Warden and we protect our own."

"Your own, is it? Do you think she was sent with you out of the goodness of my heart? Morrigan has her own purposes and you will be wise to remember that!"

"Our witch has given unstintingly of herself when she didn't have to, Flemeth," Duncan retorted with an odd sort of regret. "There are more truths and greater powers than what you know."

"Oh, Warden-Commander, and what would those be?" Flemeth's body began to blur in the manner which presaged shapeshifting.

"Love. Family. Purpose. We have given her those when you gave her nothing but squalor, sorrow and scorn."

"You are fools! If Morrigan wants my grimoire, then come and take it. She will have to fight for it because I will not have it any other way!"

And then Flemeth became a High Dragon twice the size of the one Cailan and his friends fought in the Frostback Mountains. The former King matched her roar with one of his own, drawing the witch's attention as Duncan seemingly melted into shadow right before their eyes. Having been a fighter since before any of the other Wardens had been born, the Warden-Commander had picked up a variety of tricks which had even impressed the typically unflappable and cocky Zevran.

Flemeth unleashed a blast of flame: Cailan felt it sear the air around him but the enchanted helm from his great-granduncle Ferris gave him enough protection to slash the dragon's muzzle in retaliation even as he burned. He allowed the frenzy and fury to empower him to greater heights: he fought for the survival of _his_ woman and _his_ family.

It was a long, hard, ferocious battle and no one – not even the dog – went unscathed. Cailan had taken the worst of it and Brytta, of all people, who'd been wounded the lightest; it was she who divested the witch's corpse of her key and went into the house to investigate. Now the blood frenzy and battle lust were gone, he felt every broken bone and raw wound; his heart beat in time to the rosewood ring which Morrigan had given so she could track him at any time. She'd accompanied them but dropped back about a half-day ago so that she would be out of Flemeth's sensory range.

"Ooooh. I… shit," Zevran muttered in Antivan, the only words Cailan recognising despite a decade of the best tutors Maric could buy; he could only assume it was 'I feel like shit.' Because the other Wardens were making similar comments as Brytta emerged from the hut with a bundle of cloth and a book in her arms.

"Okay. These robes are kinda creepy so I'm gonna throw them in the fire," the dwarf cheerfully decided as she threw the skimpy robes uncannily like Morrigan's preferred attire into the bonfire which had once been a tree. Where Cailan was practically a physical wreck, Duncan suffering from a wrenched shoulder and broken arm, and Zevran bruised and scraped from head to toe, the Duster had gotten away with a black eye and a broken nose.

A flutter of wings and the rosewood ring on his wedding finger alerted Cailan to Morrigan's coming; the witch shifted and landed gracefully on her feet, face horrified at the carnage before her. "By all the powers old and dark… _Cailan?_"

Despite being pretty much little better than mabari chow, the berserker grinned at the worry and … dare he think it… _love_ in the witch's voice. She dashed to him, the purplish energies of her magical signature (Alistair, more knowledgeable in these things, claimed that each mage had a subtly unique colour to their mana) flaring visibly as she prepared a healing spell. She spent her energy recklessly until the ex-King looked reasonably human again; it would take a superior healer like Wynne to fully heal him in one go, but at least he could fight if need be. Duncan received the remnants of her mana while Brytta and Zevran were left to fend for themselves.

"'Tis… a strange thought. When I first met you all, I was… less than impressed. Well, but for Brytta, a woman more potent than those she travelled with." The witch's voice was soft and halting as she struggled to articulate what she was feeling; the Duster grinned at her, unbothered by her untended broken nose. Cailan supposed the casteless would be used to facial injuries.

"But… when I was sent with her by my mother, I resented it. I expected to be driven off as an apostate once you had returned to camp; instead you all worried about my safety and offered warnings." Morrigan's beautiful golden eyes studied the top of her brown leather boots. "…And when I undertook the Joining, you… welcomed me. Not just for my talents, but for _me._ I… cannot understand why."

Her gaze flickered to Cailan, stretching his newly healed arm gingerly. "And… I found a King who desired me. Not unexpected, but one who wanted more than sex from me; not simply possession, but… friendship. You offered me your trust, all of you, even knowing I was there out of ulterior motives."

Cailan couldn't help himself; he reached out and tenderly stroked the witch's pale cheek, feeling the trembling of a wild thing within her body. "You offered me a woman who cared not for the power of my station and birth, one who was comfortable with what she wanted, and unashamed in admitting her desires. Whatever deception you've committed, Morrigan, you're more honest than that bitch in Denerim. How can I resist that?"

"I am… confused. You could have thrown away the entire fight against the Blight by coming here yet you still did. I am surely not so useful as to be worth a terrible battle… Why?"

"You are a Grey Warden, little sister," Duncan reminded her, repeating words spoken to her in Orzammar. "We protect our own."

"I… can do no less." The witch hugged herself, expression lost. "Do you… wish to know why Flemeth sent me with you?"

"If you wish to tell us, certainly," Duncan said gently as Cailan wrapped his arms around the trembling witch. "If not… We understand."'

"I… need to think," Morrigan finally said. "Let us rest. We have a long journey ahead of us tomorrow."

…

Sereda Aeducan fumed as she followed Sten's broad back and endured the drunken coarseness it pleased Oghren to call 'jests'. She had lost her temper, worn down by stress and worry, and had lost whatever progress gained from biting her tongue constantly about Alistair. The time spent in the holding cell, insulted and abused by the casteless inmates until a reluctant Daveth had collected her. Worst of all, her royal pawn had been dispatched topside to be kept away from her influence… Damn that fucking bitch Brytta for not having the decency to die as she should! The casteless slut survived things which would have killed greater people than she… and her luck rubbed off on annoyances like Cailan and Morrigan.

She could sense the Awakened hurlock the Architect assigned as messenger coming closer through the amulet the creature had given her. Sereda had been… honest… about her actions, only lying about the provocation: the Architect had been sympathetic to what she had to endure and held no grudge, simply wishing that Brytta and her kind would be… reasonable. Like that would ever happen; the casteless fancied herself a new Gherlen the Blood-Risen, a would-be Paragon. The Stone had rejected her, for Ancestors' sake! She should have died at birth!

She waited until the others were settled down around the campfire with Shale at the far end of the cavern leading to Bownammar before fading into the darkness to speak to her ally. The hurlock smiled awkwardly, showing rotting fangs, and nodded submissively; it was amusing how easily the creatures could be trained. "So Branka has gone beyond Bownammar?" it asked.

"Yes. I suspect she's penetrated Caridin's traps by now," the princess answered with a sigh, her voice covered by the roar of a river below. "It is my hope to recover the means of making golems… so that my candidate, one who will be sympathetic and desirous of peace, will have enough strength to counter Bhelen's treacherous allies."

"Fair enough." The hurlock trusted her implicitly, stupid creature. "I will clear the passages ahead so you will have an easier time of it; be wary, there is an unawakened Broodmother at the end of your journey. I cannot control her."

Sereda smiled. "There's enough muscle in my group to kill her." And if the others should die… so much the better. She would look more heroic returning alone with Branka anyway.

The hurlock nodded and faded back into the darkness, leaving Sereda alone to gloat at her inevitable victory. She was an Aeducan and therefore would triumph.

…

"The worthless dwarf is plotting treachery with the talking darkspawn. We should crush its face promptly."

Shale had very good ears, honed by years of standing and listening to the inhabitants of Honnleath whether it wanted to or not, and so it could hear Sereda's plotting. The 'princess' was an annoying flesh creature much like Wilhelm; the Wardens should have crushed its face before it joined them.

The swamp witch, the berserker (Oghren was simply 'the drunken dwarf'), the templar, the wolf-friend, the painted elf, the dark Warden, the red dog and the grey wolf were all superior specimens of their kind, Shale supposed, but she truly appreciated the company of the qunari… And would admit to having more of a soft spot (insomuch as a golem could have) for the jeweller who liked shiny things almost as much as itself; it also had a knack for finding and setting augmentation crystals. The jeweller would have also crushed the worthless dwarf's face in by now – that it wanted to was obvious – now they were in the Deep Roads. The qunari was having trouble finding a reason to kill it… so Shale had given him… _it_… one.

The drunken dwarf was snoring but the wolf-friend was chewing on some roast deepstalker beside the qunari. "We'd love ta, Shale… but we need more than your word. Not that we don't trust ya… But ya saw the soddin' mess back in Orzammar. We need ta keep that fuckin' cow alive until we got proof she's trouble, yeah?"

Shale rumbled a sigh. "We should crush the Assembly's faces and put the flesh creature who will listen to us on the throne. Not that one would be any different to another."

"A practical solution," the qunari said approvingly. "But we must put this Bhelen upon the throne as he was raised to become Arishok of the dwarves."

"Prince Bhelen's also Brytta's sister's man," the wolf-friend pointed out. "I know family don't mean much ta ya two… But it's everythin' to our favourite Duster."

"This prince is related to the jeweller?" Shale rumbled. "Perhaps he is a bit more superior to other flesh creatures then."

"Oh, I'm sure Harrowmount's a nice bloke an' all… but he's got Sereda's hand so far up his arse his mouth moves in time ta her fingers."

"But the Assembly flesh creatures are so stupid that they don't recognise this? Truly, crushing them until the blood squirts out would be a gift to the world." Shale sighed. "Can I at least crush something tomorrow? We cannot have the worthless dwarf think I have gone… _soft_… after all."

The qunari smiled approvingly. "_Kadan_, no one would ever mistake you for soft."

Shale cocked its head curiously. "What does _kadan_ mean?"

The qunari smiled up at the golem. "It means 'one closest to one's heart' or 'centre of the chest'. It is… a hard word… to translate."

"Fascinating." Shale's eyes picked out something on the ground. "Wolf-friend, could you pick up that shiny bit of rock?"

The wiry scout obeyed, revealing a jagged piece of deep reddish crystal. "Hey… If ya don't want this, I know Brytta will. Alistair gave her a piece of stone similar ta this in Redcliffe."

"The jeweller collects red diamonds?" Shale asked. "Interesting. Most flesh creatures value the colourless variety."

The qunari examined the stone in the wolf-friend's hand. "She once told me a story about a Paragon – a dwarven Qunoran Vehl – named Gherlen who arose from the casteless to become an Arishok of his kind. She said that he went to the surface, leaving behind his mate and a child that he loved dearly, and when he returned as a Paragon he discovered his mate was now mother to a noble's son. The Paragon could have destroyed this enemy and taken back his family… but instead he embraced the noble as an ally, setting the good of the dwarves above his own wishes, though it broke his heart. She said that the Ancestors and the Stone took pity on him and turned his heart to red diamond… and that when he died, his heart was found to have shattered into six pieces."

"An' when the six pieces were found an' put back together by a casteless dwarf, the curse of the Ancestors an' the Stone would lift from the Dusters, the dwarf would become a Paragon, an' the casteless would become their House," the wolf-friend finished, hand closing around the red diamond as he put it in his beltpouch.

"They call it the legend of Gherlen's Heart," the qunari observed softly. "It is a prophecy of hope and purpose… perhaps a hissra, a false illusion, but still one… to the casteless."

Shale couldn't find something sarcastic to say about fleshy creatures and their stupidity concerning the story. Thankfully, the worthless dwarf obliged her by saying, "It's blasphemy, that's what it is. The casteless are accursed and will always be so. You would do better to ignore Brytta's stupidity."

"I'm sorry, I thought I heard something speak," Shale observed to the qunari and the wolf-friend. "But instead I simply heard the worthless dwarf making noises. I really wish it would stop. It's annoying."

"How dare you?" the worthless dwarf hissed. "I am Sereda Aeducan, descendent of the Paragon who saved Orzammar from the First Blight!"

"Obviously any worth the Paragon had did not descend to you," the qunari rumbled angrily. "I will not stand idly by and watch my kadan be insulted!"

Shale clapped its hands. "Are we going to crush its face then?"

"Sten… she ain't worth foulin' Asala," the wolf-friend told the qunari, much to Shale's disappointment.

The qunari growled. "You are correct. To befoul my soul with her blood would be an insult to her steel."

"I, on the other hand, would have absolutely no qualms about crushing its face since I have no soul to befoul," Shale offered eagerly.

"Do not, kadan. It is not our place to pass judgment but Duncan's," the qunari said regretfully.

Shale sighed as the worthless dwarf scowled. "Very well."

"You… fucking… Dusters! You're all Dusters and I wish you were dead!"

"Given that Dusters appear to be a superior strain of the dwarven species, it flatters us," Shale replied with cheerful malice.

The worthless dwarf's face darkened dangerously and Shale wondered if it would have a heart attack like the dark Warden did (provoked by the annoying fleshy creature before her, as the golem understood). It would be nearly as entertaining as crushing its face!

Alas, it simply stomped off into the darkness, Shale emitting a grinding chuckle. "The qunari once said everything has a purpose, yes?"

"Of course, kadan."

"Perhaps the worthless dwarf's purpose is to provide endless amusement with its attempts at intrigue and betrayal?"

The qunari and the wolf-friend began to laugh so loudly it woke up the drunken dwarf, who complained foully and then rolled over to sleep. Shale settled down for night watch, content in knowing that she had amused herself at the expense of one fleshy creature today.


	21. War

Note: Thanks for the reviews! I'm glad you're enjoying Brytta and Duncan's story. The theme song for this chapter is 30 Seconds to Mars' _This Is War._ (Clichéd, I know, but still appropriate. In the Diamondverse, Aedan (canon m!Cousland name) and Mara (head-canon autistic!f!Cousland from _The Dutiful Daughter_ and _The Guard and the Girl/The Game of Princes_) are twins; Mara has little to no bearing in this story, though she exists in this AU. I'm also speeding things up as we're coming to another major climax in the story… and please don't hate me for what I've done to Alistair; I believe the Templars practice things like synaesthesia and blind fighting in preparation for sensing mage energies, so his badassness will not be affected… Alistair is now a Spirit Warrior in addition to being a Templar; however, I'm going to make it an extension of templar abilities. And I had to make Bhelen prove himself worthy of that orange nametag above his head; the spell Morrigan uses is a custom one called Entropic Death from Orgolove's Armageddon mod; very, very nasty insta-kill spell.

**Part 21: War**

Loghain's hand, encased in silverite, itched for his sword as Rendon Howe and Anora approached under the white flag of truce. Once he'd trusted the Arl of Amaranthine with his life… and Anora, of course, was his only daughter. Now they were on opposite sides of a war provoked by Howe's treachery… How could his daughter not see the man was a snake? Did the bastard have some hold on her?

But looking into the cold blue eyes of the Queen of Ferelden, he realised that nothing had a hold on Anora beyond her own ambition.

He looked at those who accompanied Rendon and Anora: Thomas Howe, Bann Ceorlic… and a lithe, fair-haired young man that bore a startling resemblance to the dark-haired, woad-painted Fergus Cousland. Loghain had never met Aedan Cousland, youngest son of the Teyrn of Highever, but he was unsurprised to see the notoriously fickle husband of Delilah Howe defying his own family by standing with the traitors.

Then he looked to his allies: Fergus, the would-be King and a better one that Cailan had been or Rendon promised to be; Senior Enchanter Wynne and the distractingly lovely mage Parean; Alistair Theirin, looking much older and sad than he had before Ostagar; Arls Eamon Guerrin and Leonas Bryland, high nobles all; several Banns including Teagan of Rainesferre and Alfstanna of Waking Sea; and Ser Cauthrien, his right-hand woman.

"Father… I am glad to see you are alive," Anora began, her voice light and lovely. She looked so much like her mother Celia that Loghain's heart ached for a moment before he ruthlessly shoved the feeling aside. "I thought…"

"You thought wrong. Cailan and I both live, no thanks to Rendon Howe," Loghain grated. "We were both tainted by the darkspawn, so the only way to keep us both alive was to undergo the Grey Wardens' Joining."

"I thought the Grey Wardens were supposed to stay out of politics," Rendon Howe observed snidely. "Yet here you are at the head of a rebel army."

"The bounty you put on the Wardens' heads might have something to do with their alliance with us," Fergus retorted, bone-beaded braids rattling whenever he moved his head. He'd gone native, as Loghain suspected; he wondered what his Antivan bride would think of it. "And _we_ aren't the rebels. We desire a Landsmeet called to decide who will rule us during this Blight."

"And that person should be you?" Aedan countered smoothly. Loghain recalled that this man was a rogue in contrast to his warrior brother and parents; a courtier where the majority of the Couslands preferred directness and honesty.

"If the Landsmeet decided otherwise, I would be glad of it; if they decided for me, I would accept it," Fergus answered. "Little brother, Rendon Howe left us to die at Ostagar; why do you support him?"

Aedan's sky-blue eyes narrowed. "He saved a portion of the army from the Wardens' treachery," the younger Cousland stated sharply. "Tell me, brother: what did the Orlesians offer you? A crown?"

Loghain gave a raw rasping laugh that clawed at his throat as it escaped. "It is a _Blight_, you fool, and both Theirin brothers are ineligible because they are now Grey Wardens! Your brother is the highest noble remaining; your father could have been King but refused the crown."

"You do not trust me to run Ferelden?" Anora demanded, her voice sharp with hurt. Loghain could almost believe she was genuinely distressed.

"You have allowed this travesty to happen, Anora," Loghain responded. "I sent you messages from Redcliffe asking for you to call a Landsmeet. You ignored me and allowed Rendon Howe to hunt us Wardens down. You seem to think the Bannorn should act as Orlesian lickspittles and obey your every whim. I don't know how you got this way… but I didn't raise you like that, Anora. _Please._ Call the Landsmeet and let the people of Ferelden decide who should rule them."

Anora's eyes glittered. "I am sorry, Father, that you want war so very much. You see… Not all darkspawn are the unthinking monsters we were led to believe by the Grey Wardens. Some of them want peace; they are content to remain in the deepest of the Deep Roads so they can be freed of the Old Gods' call. I will call a Landsmeet… if the Grey Wardens allow the Architect and his followers to live in peace."

After much deliberation, Loghain had elected to share Duncan's tale of his and Maric's journey into the Deep Roads with the war council. The First Warden could kiss his arse if he disapproved, but the Arls and Banns who followed him were aware of the fates of those who'd encountered the intelligent darkspawn… and they'd been horrified. Alistair had finally agreed… because rumours were already sweeping the surface dwarf community and reaching the average Fereldan. Better to be forewarned and forearmed than to be worried about keeping a secret no one could hold to themselves.

"So our allies the dwarves should suffer alone then?" Fergus countered. "And even if this Architect was telling the truth, this _is_ a Blight. Multiple sources from here to Antiva have confirmed it."

"I would hardly call Rennio d'Antiva a reliable source," Aedan said blandly. "He _is_ a Grey Warden after all."

Anora sighed regretfully. "I am sorry you want war so much, Father, though I shouldn't be surprised. You've never known what to do with peace."

Loghain was about to respond when a too-familiar burning began in his blood. Alistair cursed and reflexively went for his sword as he yelled, "Darkspawn!"

Pandemonium erupted as fireballs began to rain down from a line of hitherto-concealed genlock and hurlock emissaries on the rebel army. Loghain swore as he drew his sword and lunged towards the fleeing Rendon Howe, catching the traitorous bastard in the back. At least if he went down, one threat to Ferelden was eliminated.

No one would ever know the true death toll of the Massacre of Hafter River; the darkspawn attack was too devastating. But when it was over the rebel army had the greater amount of men and leaders left, mostly due to the efforts of the Circle of Magi: Parean Amell unleashed a tempest which countered the inferno of the emissaries while the Senior Enchanter Wynne displayed a hitherto-unknown Spirit Healer ability which allowed her to keep the rebel leaders alive long enough to rally their troops.

Even so the list of noble dead and wounded was heartbreaking: Wulff and Alfstanna were dead, Eamon had lost an arm and a leg, Fergus Cousland an eye… But of Rendon Howe's people, Rendon, Thomas and Bann Ceorlic were dead, Anora and Aedan missing.

Loghain had the bitter satisfaction of being proven right as the remnants of Howe's army surrendered; the darkspawn had faded away as easily as they came. But by the Maker, how could it have come to this?

He eventually retired to his tent to find the mage Parean, wide-eyed and traumatised, waiting for him. And for some stupid crazy reason, they hugged each other and wept copiously over the horror of the day. When they were done, Loghain held the girl as she went to sleep, eyes dry and heart hardened as he began to plan for the next stage in the campaign. He prayed that Duncan and his people would return topside soon…

…

"Alright, I think everybody needs to calm the fuck down!"

Daveth stepped between an arguing Sereda and Shale as tensions over what should be done with the Anvil of the Void ran high. The discovery of how golems were made – and the revelation that Shale had been a friend of the smith-turned-golem – had thrown a fire bomb onto the dry oil-soaked timber that was the Deep Roads expedition. Sten, Oghren and Sereda supported Branka; Shale was firmly on Caridin's side. As for Daveth, he figured one Paragon was as good as another, and Branka was nuttier than his old mum's fruitcake.

"Sten… This thin' uses souls. Livin' folks. Now I know you Qun got no problem with that sorta thin' because ya'd do it after bein' ordered ta, but what if somebody made a weapon that needed Asala ta work. Would ya let them take her from ya?"

"Of course not," the qunari retorted. "But that is different…"

"No, it ain't. Now, if'n I could be certain whoever becomes King'd only use it on volunteers who'd end up like Shale, I'd be 'yeah, sure', but most of them would be poor bastards rounded up for the job an' controlled by a fuckin' rod besides. Probably folks like Leske or Brytta…"

"Finally, a use for casteless," Sereda observed from the back. Daveth resisted the urge to stab her as Fluffy growled his displeasure. The wolf was getting as smart as a mabari (probably smarter, because he wasn't a smartarse like Atrast Hjarta).

"I…" Sten sighed. "If my kadan is against it, then so must I be."

"Thank you," Shale said simply.

"You are welcome, kadan."

Daveth looked to Oghren. "Look, mate, this shit ain't worth it. I know Branka's yer missus… but she fuckin' fed a whole buncha folk to the darkspawn for this shit. She's nuttier than me old mum's fruitcake."

Oghren looked pleadingly at his wife. "Let it go, you stupid nug-tailed bitch! This isn't worth it!"

"Everything is worth the Anvil of the Void," Branka replied as she lifted a control rod. "Golems, to me!"

Daveth issued an eerie call which brought forth one of the giant spiders which lurked in this place, protected from the taint by the Anvil of the Void's location, and directed the creature to attack Branka… but the bitch somehow managed to divide herself in three. What the fuck?

It was a long, bitter and confusing battle, but in the end Sten decapitated Branka with a mighty blow that sent her head bouncing over the cliff. Oghren, the poor drunken sod, howled with anguish as Sereda swore viciously. "You fucking fool!" she snarled. "How are we going to get a Paragon's vote for Harrowmount now?"

"Uh, we got one right there," Daveth said, jerking a thumb at the patiently waiting Caridin. "We destroy the Anvil, he gives us his vote. Sound good, my large iron friend?"

"That is fine with me," Caridin agreed. "I will forge you a crown for your chosen King. Don't tell me about them because I truly do not care."

"Yeah, sure," Daveth assured the golem as he went to gather some tracings from the Golem Registry for the Shaperate. Caridin nodded and went, for one last time, to his forge.

When the crown was made and the Anvil destroyed by Sten, Caridin made his farewells and stepped into a lava flow. Poor bastard was glad to be dead. Daveth thanked the giant spider by letting it eat Branka's corpse after he'd looted it; Oghren got absolutely shit-faced, even by his standards, while Sereda had vamoosed somewhere and Sten sat down, talking to Shale as he cleaned Asala.

Fluffy trotted up to the scout as he tucked the crown in his pack. It was a nice hefty piece of gold and jewels. _Evil bitch was talking to the wrong-bad pack again,_ the wolf whined. Atrast Hjarta was _the tame bitch_, Brytta _the pack leader's bitch_, and Morrigan _the mage bitch_; Duncan, of course was _the pack leader,_ Sten _second pack leader_, Cailan _the rabid one_, Alistair _the rabid one's pack brother_, and Zevran _the sneaky one._ Daveth was _two-legged pack brother._

"Was?" Daveth asked softly.

The wolf's tongue lolled in a grin. _I ripped the wrong-bad two-legs' throat out and then hamstrung the evil bitch. She awaits second pack leader's judgment._

"Good wolf!" Daveth said, rubbing the lupine's ears. Most people assumed that he'd named Fluffy… but the creature had named himself. In his pack, before Daveth had found him hurt by a trap, he'd been _the big one with the fluffy tail. _So he was called Fluffy for short. "Sten… we gots ta talk ta ya."

"What is it, eyes of the Wardens?" Sten bellowed back.

"Fluffy just busted Sereda Aeducan natterin' ta a smart darkspawn; he's killed the darkspawn an' hamgstrung the bitch for your judgment."

But when they went to the spot Fluffy indicated, all they found was a dead darkspawn and bloody drag marks. _She was here!_ Fluffy whined in protest.

"We believe you," Sten murmured. With time on the road, so to speak, the others had learned to communicate with Fluffy nearly as well as they could with Atrast Hjarta.

The qunari sighed. "This is a problem… I will feel easier if we can confirm the Tal-Vashoth is dead."

"I would agree but it has wasted much time here," Shale rumbled. "We should go to Cadash Thaig… and then Orzammar."

Sten nodded. "Let us be gone then. We have wasted enough time here."

Daveth knew in his gut that Sereda would be back one day… and when she did, trouble would follow.

…

Alistair closed his eyes, more out of habit than anything else since he didn't actually see much these days, as he entered a meditative trance and expanded his other senses. His awareness unfurled like an opening rosebud, allowing him to smell other people's voices and hear the touch of sunlight on his skin; he flicked his tongue out like a snake's, tasting the blood, sweat and fear which pervaded the rebels' camp, and felt the porridge that the army cooks were pleased to call food churning in his stomach.

Then he unsheathed his sword and assumed a shieldman's stance, tracking his opponent's movements by the heat of his skin and the taint in his blood. Once the warrior had settled into place, Alistair attacked, sword aimed unerringly for Loghain's neck.

His fellow Warden cursed and backpedalled rapidly, catching the blow with his own shield. Despite being the more experienced warrior, Loghain was feeling every inch of his fifty-something years as the ex-templar launched all of his hopelessness, despair and bitterness into his attacks. Alistair resisted the war cries designed to startle and disorient an opponent with a templar's discipline, matched the general blow for blow, and pressed forward steadily until he had driven Loghain out of the circle.

"Enough," Loghain ordered wearily. "I was wrong to question your ability to fight, Alistair."

Alistair smiled bitterly. "It was natural to do so. I _am_ blind now, aren't I?"

Loghain sighed. "I… failed you as a commander. I am sorry."

"For what? Not expecting Anora to be so… power-hungry? We were expecting trouble from the darkspawn or from your daughter, not from both," Alistair retorted.

"I… You are right. I need to organise what's left of Howe's troops. I take it we will spar tomorrow?"

"Of course." Alistair sheathed his sword and swung his shield across his back, rubbing his neck wearily. He knew all about self-recrimination, having kicked himself several dozen times for trusting Sereda Aeducan.

He'd been so certain that the princess, like Cailan, was adjusting positively to being away from the tangled mess that was royal politics and obligation. Sure, she was a little ruthless, but no worse than Duncan or Brytta… right? And she'd been a real comfort to him when he thought his fellow Wardens were dead.

But seeing the way she'd told Duncan about Brytta's supposed death and then having the Duster come back to life… He'd begun to doubt her. After her breakdown in the Orzammar Commons, he'd begun to question her character. Now, in the wake of Anora actively conspiring with intelligent darkspawn, he had to wonder if the Architect had subverted Sereda too.

It was a chilling thought and one he wasn't prepared to share until he had absolute proof.

So instead the ex-templar spent the weeks marching to Denerim, where it was assumed Anora and Aedan Cousland had fled to, reacquainting himself with advanced templar combat abilities and blind fighting techniques. The whispers of the archdemon were getting more urgent and Alistair was certain the tainted Old God would soon rise to the surface.

He intended to take the deathblow. In the tightly knit group that the Grey Wardens had become, he was the odd one out – just like his life in the Chantry. Oh, they were much kinder than the initiates in the monastery, but everyone was comfortably paired off or had made friends… except for him. Brytta had made an effort but when he began spending too much time with Sereda Aeducan, she'd backed off… He couldn't blame her but he missed her friendship keenly. Cailan had Morrigan, Duncan had Brytta, Sten had Shale, Daveth had Fluffy and Zevran… Well, the assassin would find his own friends soon enough. Even Loghain had the mage Parean now, though neither would admit it.

Again, Alistair was the third wheel. He could get used to that, he supposed – but he didn't want to. So he'd kill the archdemon so his friends could live happily ever after like they deserved to.

It was the best Warden he could be.

…

"I cannot believe they are doing this!"

Bhelen readied the massive two-handed dragonbone axe he fought with as the barricaded Palace doors cracked under the strain of resisting a battering ram. With the Wardens gone for weeks and paranoia running unchecked in Orzammar, the streets had spiralled into anarchy despite the Assembly's best efforts to keep order. Now Harrowmount's supporters were laying siege to the Royal Palace itself, trapping him, Rica and the remaining Aeducan supporters inside.

"Well, they are," Rica said bitterly. His amber rose wore a set of Sereda's old armour and carried her paired short swords like she knew how to use them. Given that her sister Brytta was an awesome fighter and the siblings had shared their knowledge more than once, he shouldn't be surprised.

"Have I told you that I love you?" Bhelen asked her tenderly.

"For the sixth time today," Rica replied, sweetly curved lips lifting in a brief smile. Then the battering ram hammered against the doors again and she lost the expression. "Bhelen… I love you too."

Vartag arrayed the Palace Guards in preparation for the doors' inevitable breaking and Bhelen looked around at his allies: Nobles, Warriors, Miners, Smiths, Merchants, Servants and even casteless. All prepared to die because they believed in his dream of a better, stronger Orzammar… All likely to die because he had tried to play the Game of Houses as best he could…

"Orzammar will die today," Denek Helmi observed bitterly.

"Our fair city's been dying for a while," Anwer Dace pointed out sourly. "Even the Grey Wardens knew that; it's why they left. They have a greater duty to the Blight."

Bhelen didn't know why only Riordan remained; the Orlesian had said something about 'internal affairs' when pressed. He knew, Stone-deep, that Brytta wouldn't have left Orzammar lightly or without need. She expected to return or she would have taken Rica and Endrin with her.

"There's something poetic about the only dwarves remaining living on the surface," he mused aloud. "Well, I wish them the best of luck… I hope Harrowmount drowns in darkspawn spume and Sereda becomes a Broodmother."

"Yield, Bhelen, and we will allow your whore and brat to leave for the surface!" Dulin Forender, second to Pyral Harrowmount, yelled through the doors.

Bhelen gave Rica a quick glance; Harrowmount _was_ honourable enough to keep such a promise, and if meant Rica and his son would live… But the defiant pride in her eyes stopped him from asking the question. The Broscas never ran; they never backed down; they died with their feet to the Stone and their heads held high. They were more noble than the nobles themselves.

"Go blow an Ogre!" Bhelen retorted. "C'mon, then, and I will show you cowardly fucks the guts of an Aeducan… _and then I will show you yours_!"

"So be it!" And the doors were blasted open with the spell of an elvish mercenary mage.

"Son of a whore," Anwer Dace murmured, blood bubbling from his lips as an arm-thick splinter of surfacer oak protruded from his chest. Who he was cursing as he died, Bhelen would never know.

Predictably, Pyral wasn't with the Harrowmount troops who poured into the foyer of the Palace; the cowardly shit was likely awaiting the news in his comfortable office back on the Harrowmount estate. He'd never fought, damn his eyes; pure courtier… At least Bhelen had seen real combat against the darkspawn.

Dulin Forender led the charge directly for Bhelen, who positioned himself in front of Rica. He would die to protect her. "You pollute the Stone you tread upon!" Harrowmount's second snarled as he raised his sword to cut the Aeducan prince down. "That Endrin had such a son-"

His words were cut off by the crossbow bolt which sprouted from his eye. "I hope deepstalkers piss on your corpse," Rica snarled as she struggled to reload the weapon. "I hope your Ancestors cry at the shame of you dying at the hands of a Duster."

Bhelen smiled lovingly at his amber rose… and then wondered why it was suddenly silent. He turned around and cursed softly at what he saw.

Every one of Harrowmount's troops were dead and twitching on the ground… as were some of Bhelen's people, but not as many, as a black cloud of magical energy interlaced with purple dispersed to reveal Duncan, Brytta, Cailan, Morrigan and Zevran. "Honey, I'm home!" Brytta called out cheerfully.

"I take it by the… excitement… that Sten's people haven't returned," Duncan observed quietly as he entered the Palace.

"No, Duncan," Bhelen replied, clasping the Warden-Commander's forearm in silent gratitude. "I hope they do so soon… All you've done, my friend, is buy me time."

"I fear we haven't," Duncan said sadly. "Harrowmount's called an election for today. The Assembly are already gathering."

"That son of a whore," Bhelen swore. "If I'm not there… I can't contest."

"Exactly. Let's go immediately."

"Agreed." Bhelen took Rica's hand. If today was going to end in his execution (as it most likely would), then he'd show his love for Rica to the world… and damn the consequences.

…

The dwarves considered themselves masters of intrigue, but Zevran had long reached the conclusion that the only ones of the short, stout race who were actually good at it came, of course, from Antiva. The former Antivan Crow followed Prince Bhelen, who still wore bloody armour, into the Chamber of the Assembly just in time to see Lord Pyral Harrowmount's jaw drop in shock. "Prince Bhelen, what are you doing here?"

"Contending for the crown, of course," the Aeducan replied as he tossed Dulin Forender's head at his rival's feet, crossbow bolt still lodged in his eye. It landed with a wet smack, making the noble blanch. "And I see my beloved sister is here… What killed your companions this time, Sereda? A giant pink deepstalker… or did you do to them what you did to Trian?"

Lord Denek Helmi snickered as the Aeducan princess, who looked pale and bruised-looking, snarled in fury. "Your running dogs betrayed me and left me for dead, you Duster-fucking piece of shit!"

"Ah, my sister, ever the Paragon of tact and class," Bhelen drawled. "I'd say beauty too… but Father always did frown on lying."

The Prince looked around at the gathered deshyrs, blue eyes blazing. "Orzammar is _dying_. I will not promise that I'll be a conciliatory king or even a kind one… But I will do what my ancestor Aeducan did during the First Blight… I will bring down the cracked, rotten stone which threatens our people and rebuild Orzammar into something greater!"

"You will be a tyrant!" Harrowmount retorted.

"I hope I won't need to be if the Assembly is willing to look past House politics towards the greater good." Bhelen looked each of the eighty gathered nobles in the eye. "If you choose Harrowmount, I ask for execution. Because it would be better than seeing Orzammar become a bloated, rotting corpse sitting on a gilded throne."

Whatever the dwarven Prince was, he was certainly a good orator, Zevran reflected as he leaned against the nearest column. And he was speaking the truth: the way things were going, the dwarves would be extinct in a century and the only ones left would be living topside.

"Don't worry, brother, I'll be pleased to oblige you," Sereda countered silkily. Zevran couldn't help but observe she looked an awful lot like a genlock with hair; her teeth were sharp and rotting, her skin pale and splotched with dark bruises.

"Don't worry, Sereda; we'll be pleased to _disoblige_ ya," called Daveth from the open door as he and the other Grey Wardens dispatched to find Branka entered the chamber, some red-haired dwarf in tow. The scout carried a massive crown of gold and gems in his hands.

"This is a crown forged by the Paragon Caridin for his chosen king!" the red-haired dwarf announced. "Branka has joined the Ancestors; the Grey Warden granted Caridin the mercy he sought and destroyed the Anvil of the Void at his request."

"You are hardly the most sound of witnesses, Oghren," Nerav Helmi pointed out sharply. "Your wife took her entire House… but for you… when she left for the Deep Roads."

The Master Shaper walked over to the crown Daveth was holding, examining it minutely. "It… has Caridin's mark on it. This is a valid vote… For whom did the Paragon mean it for?"

"Your Qunaron Vehl recognised that Bhelen's rightful place is as Arishok of the dwarves," Sten rumbled.

"Huh?" Harrowmount looked confused as the Master Shaper paled.

"He means… that Caridin… voted for Bhelen." The Master Shaper touched Pyral's shoulder. "I am sorry, kinsman, but the Ancestors have spoken. Bhelen is King."

Bhelen, who'd been wearing the face of a man expecting execution, took a deep shaky breath as he stepped forward and knelt before the Master Shaper. The deshyrs gathered around him, banging their staves of office against the granite floor as the Master Shaper took the crown from Daveth and placed it on the Aeducan prince's head. "Arise, Bhelen Aeducan, first amongst the Lords of the Houses, Shield of Orzammar, King of the Dwarva," he intoned. "May the Ancestors find you worthy."

He knelt a Prince; he arose a King. Zevran saw the change in his eyes as he looked across the Assembly Chamber, face grim and stern. "My first order of business is to command the Houses to gather their forces and prepare them to go to the surface. We will fulfil our obligations by marching alongside the Grey Wardens to combat the Blight."

Zevran followed the cross-armed bows of the other Grey Wardens (barring Sereda, whose life expectancy had depreciated significantly) as Duncan said, "Thank you, King Bhelen."

"Don't thank me, my friend; I am in debt to you." Bhelen's eyes crinkled as he suddenly smiled. "I trust you will do the right thing by my sister Brytta and marry her before you depart for the surface?"

Duncan looked down at Brytta, who returned his gaze with that shining gaze of adoration she reserved for him alone. "If she will have me, of course I will."

"Don't be stupid, Duster; of course I'll have you," Brytta answered, her crude words belied by the love in her voice.

"Excellent. My second order of business is to name the Grey Wardens members of the Noble Caste with all rights and responsibilities that come with it." Bhelen actually grinned at the sudden look of consternation which crossed Duncan's features. "The Warden-Commander of Ferelden will be considered a deshyr in the Assembly."

"By the Maker's balls and the mercy of the djinn of the Fade," Duncan breathed under his breath.

"It is something we should have done long ago," Bhelen continued, looking amused at the slightly terrified expression on the Rivaini's face. "You sacrifice so very much, so that we can sit around and play politics."

"I… am honoured," Duncan finally managed with another bow.

"My third order of business is to open the ranks of the Army to the casteless; should they serve for no less than three terms of three years each, they and their families shall be raised to the ranks of the non-noble Caste best suited to their natures. Should they die during this Blight, their families will be considered Warrior Caste immediately. Should they become a Grey Warden… Then they are Noble Caste automatically."

The Master Shaper looked outraged. "This goes against everything the Memories stand for!"

Zevran concealed a smile as Bhelen turned a deceptively mild gaze reminiscent of Duncan's most dangerous look upon the older man. "If you press dust hard enough, it becomes hard as Stone. The casteless have been pressed enough; let them turn that hardness against the darkspawn."

"I… of course." The Master Shaper wisely shut up as Bhelen finally turned his gaze to the ashen-faced Pyral Harrowmount and the furious Sereda.

"In a better world, I would let you retire to the surface and trouble Orzammar no more," he told the Lord who had been his rival regretfully. "But you have allowed your House's name to be used for vile acts while pretending to be honourable… and Orzammar cannot be divided."

"I understand." Pyral knelt before Bhelen. "I accept your judgment and only ask that my wife and children be spared."

"If they swear upon their Ancestors and the Stone itself they will not rebel against me or offer support to those who do, they shall be allowed to stay or go to the surface as they prefer," Bhelen agreed.

"They will likely go to the surface rather than see the travesty Orzammar will become under your rule," Harrowmount responded bitterly.

"That is up to them. Do you wish to commit suicide or would you prefer the headsman's axe?"

Pyral blanched; Zevran gathered he'd never handled a weapon in his life. "I… I… can't decide."

"Then it will be the axe for you. You have twelve hours to settle your affairs." Bhelen turned to his sister, something like sorrow and anger in his eyes. "Sereda…"

"Don't!" the princess spat in fury. "You are a shame upon our House. I should have murdered you and your casteless whore."

"Yes, you should have," Bhelen agreed grimly. "But it is not my place to punish you for the deeds done during your exile."

"No, it is not," Sten rumbled. "She has conspired with the intelligent darkspawn. It is the duty of the Ben-Hassrath of the Wardens to pass judgment."

Duncan and the rest looked shocked; even Zevran was surprised. But the grim faces of Sten, Shale and Daveth confirmed it. Finally, the Warden-Commander drew his sword as Cailan approached Sereda from behind and forced her to kneel. The princess looked too stunned to protest or even struggle as the ex-King stepped away.

"You have betrayed everything we stand for," Duncan said sadly. "_In war, victory. In peace, vigilance. In death, sacrifice._ What do you have to say for yourself?"

Sereda looked bitterly up at the Rivaini. "I hope the archdemon devours you and everything you hold dear, _Warden-Commander._" Then her gaze sought and found Brytta's. "I hope you die screaming, you Duster slut."

"If I do, you won't be there to see it," was Brytta's answer.

Duncan rammed his sword through Sereda's chest, somewhat ironically through the heart; the princess coughed once and died, black-swirled blood spilling from the wound as the Warden-Commander removed his blade. "Throw her in a lava flow," he told Cailan flatly. "She deserves no ceremony or tomb."

He then turned to the other Grey Wardens, flat expression matched by Riordan's grim gaze. "We will go to the surface tomorrow. The archdemon has risen from the Deep Roads."

Zevran suddenly felt an urge to start praying as most of the others – barring Brytta and Morrigan, of all people – looked ill.

It was the beginning of the end. May the Maker have mercy on them all.


	22. Gathering

Note: Thanks for the reviews and alerts! Sorry about the monster previous chapter. As noted in a previous story, my head-canon is that Grey Wardens have a specific wedding ceremony in the Shaperate of Orzammar. I only hope this oath is better than the one I used in _The Dutiful Daughter…_ The final battle's location will change… mostly because there's a plot nug chittering in my ear for the next instalment in this series. Damned thing's being snuck cheese by Alistair, I swear! Sn0w0wl, please don't hate me for embarrassing Loghain and Parean!

…

**Part 22: Gathering**

No sleep was gotten that night as the dwarves worked tirelessly to prepare themselves for a war on the surface. King Bhelen Aeducan delegated all necessary duties to Vartag Galvorn and Denek Helmi for several hours as he went to the Shaperate for an important ceremony.

He found Duncan resting his forehead against one of the stone bookshelves, freshly bathed and with his hair scraped back into a small ponytail, his trademark earring back where it belonged. "I hope you're not backing out of the ceremony," Bhelen joked, trying to find some levity to allay his real fear of the coming days.

The human's lips curved in a rueful smile. "And piss off the Brosca sisters? What do you take me for, an idiot?" But the humour slid from his face to be replaced with his customary graveness as he sighed.

"Maybe the archdemon's risen to offer his congratulations on your wedding," Bhelen suggested dryly, drawing a subdued chuckle from Duncan.

"If only… Even if we kill the archdemon, the Blight is far from over. Any surviving Wardens will have to find the Architect and kill him." The Warden-Commander sighed again as he rubbed his arched nose. "Have I made the right decision, Bhelen, in opposing him? Could we find some kind of middle ground with the intelligent darkspawn?"

Bhelen leant against the bookshelf across from his soon-to-be brother, shaking his head. "Even if this Architect is the nicest guy in the world – and from what you've told me, he's pretty fucked up – the fact remains that the taint twists everything it touches. The darkspawn could never coexist with the rest of us because they'll kill everything eventually."

"That is what the First Warden said. The Architect wanted to force the races through the Joining; now it appears he is somehow making his kind more intelligent." Duncan turned fully to face the King of Orzammar. "I apologise for entertaining thoughts of doing something similar to what I executed Sereda for."

"We all want peace, Duncan," Bhelen responded sympathetically. "If I had been in Sereda's shoes, I would have considered a similar alliance. No one is above reproach or beyond doubts."

"Indeed." Duncan tugged at his earring. "I never expected to find love, especially in the last years of my life. I am the eldest of the Wardens excepting Riordan; it will be my duty and his to bring the archdemon down. Do you know that when a Grey Warden slays an archdemon, their soul – along with the Old God's – is destroyed?"

"Ancestors…" Bhelen breathed, awed anew by the sacrifices the Grey Wardens made for the rest of the world. They made the petty honour of the Noble Caste look tawdry in comparison. "Even dwarves?"

"Even dwarves." Duncan's dark gaze was shadowed. "I was once told by a _saaHira_, a sorceress bonded with a good Fade spirit, that love was selfish. And she was right. I want to take Brytta far away from this damned Blight and find a corner of the world where we can live until I am Called to the Deep Roads."

"But you won't."

"No, I won't… because _maHábba_, my love, would not run away. But I find myself hoping another Warden – not her, not I – will take the deathblow. And that is unconscionably selfish of me to wish that when I am the eldest and therefore should be the one to die."

Bhelen shook his head. "It's not selfish, it's only natural." He clasped the human's hand sympathetically. "Call me a selfish bastard because I find myself hoping Riordan takes the blow for you. I'd hate to lose another member of the family."

The King looked thoughtfully at the Warden-Commander. "House Harrowmount has decided to go to the surface; more power to them, I say. I intend to hand over their estate to the Grey Wardens as a base; I want a garrison in Orzammar. I have plans to reclaim the thaigs… and we will need you to do that."

Duncan nodded. "I understand… and it's a good idea. We need to survive this Blight first."

Bhelen smiled. "Trust me, we will. Neither of us can let our people run around unsupervised."

Duncan chuckled again, his mood lightening. "Very true… Do you think the ladies are ready?"

"I'd say so. Let's get you married, brother, before we go and kick ourselves some dragon ass."

…

"You're hopeless, Brytta! A dress won't kill you."

"I'm wearing my leathers." Rica's little sister set her jaw stubbornly. Over a year on the surface hadn't changed her too much.

Finally the Queen-to-be of Orzammar relented and instead braided a new headband for Brytta to wear; for some reason, Kalah had chosen to have the forehead brand added to the customary cheek one when the stubborn little mite had been born. It was something Brytta tried to hide.

But her sister had changed more than Rica realised when she refused the headband, instead simply tying her messy auburn curls back with a leather cord. She'd both put on weight and grown more muscular in the year she'd been absent from Orzammar… but something in her had softened. Rica instinctively knew that _this_ Brytta couldn't kill a person in front of their child the way the carta thug would have – and had, sad to say. All of Rica's good fortune was owed to Brytta selling pieces of her soul to Beraht… But the Grey Wardens, Ser Duncan in particular, had returned them to her.

"Rica." At the low urgency in Brytta's voice, the Queen-to-be turned to face her sister, finding the Grey Warden's face solemn as she held out two pieces of reddish crystal. "I want you to keep these for me."

"Of course… But what are they?"

"Pieces of red diamond," Brytta replied. "If I find any more, I'll send them to you."

"Pieces of… oh." Rica cradled the two bits of rough diamond reverently. Together, they made up about the third of the size of a typical dwarven heart. "Do you think…?"

"I don't know." The Grey Warden shrugged. "But it isn't for me to put them together. That's your job."

"What do you mean?" Rica was stunned. Brytta was the one finding the shards of Gherlen's Heart and had the ability to put them together. Why was she getting _Rica_ to do it?

"I am a Grey Warden," Brytta replied, her voice soft and sad. "It's my place to fight and die so that others may live."

"You shouldn't talk like that," Rica protested, only to find her sister touching her lips gently to still the words.

"It's okay, sister. The story of Gherlen's Heart was always yours; never mine. I've been a damn sight luckier than most Dusters and that's fine by me. I've lived, I've loved and I've even been to the Fade and flown with the wings of a bird. Don't feel sad for me, okay?"

"Why do I think this is a farewell?" Rica clutched the red diamond pieces tightly in her hands.

"Because it is." Brytta's smile was bittersweet. "There's a good chance I'm not coming back from this, Rica. I want to, but I can't count on it. I'd sooner make my goodbyes now than never having done so."

"How can you be so damned calm about this?"

"A wise old woman once told me that I could scream and cry and be angry about my life as a Grey Warden or I could accept it and allow myself to see the good in it." Brytta's gaze was serene despite the bittersweet affection in her smile. "She was right. Becoming a Grey Warden was the best thing to happen to me, and not just because of Duncan. To me, he's the icing on the cake."

"So why won't you put Gherlen's Heart together? That's a good thing to do!"

"It is… but it's not _my_ good to do. _In war, victory. In peace, vigilance. In death, sacrifice._ Even if I survive the Blight, sis, I mightn't live to see Endrin come of age. You know we Wardens die young. Orzammar – the casteless – really don't need a carta thug. It needs a Queen with your heart and compassion and decency."

Rica swallowed her sorrow and blinked tears from her eyes. "You should be a Paragon, not me. And that's assuming the story of Gherlen's Heart is even true."

"It's as true as you make it," Brytta replied with a heartbreakingly gentle smile. "Don't cry for me until I'm dead, okay, sis? We're Broscas – we don't bawl over stupid shit."

"You're right." Rica sniffled a little but met her sister's malachite-green gaze easily. "We'd better go and get you married."

"Before Duncan comes to his senses and runs away? Great idea!"

…

Duncan was unsurprised to see Brytta in her Grey Warden leathers as she walked down the central aisle of the Shaperate to join him before the Wall of Memories. He wore a set of formal silverite Warden-Commander's plate kept in the Shaperate for ceremonial purposes instead of the custom-made articulated silverite-and-drakeskin set he wore every day. Even in the heart of the Diamond Quarter Brytta carried the Aeducan mace across her back and wore her trusty old iron daggers in her belt. That too didn't surprise him.

There was little that the Wardens could do at the moment now it was determined the dwarves would go to the surface to fight the Blight. He could hear the archdemon's voice in his head whispering commands to the horde… Riordan, who could understand the voice better than most because of the nearness of his Calling, believed the creature was somewhere near Redcliffe. It would be a long, hard march and Duncan prayed that they or Loghain and Alistair would make it in time to slay the beast.

The new Shaper of Memories, a brown-bearded man named Milldrate, smiled briefly at Brytta; she'd returned a rare tome to the Shaperate after an old acquaintance had stolen it. His predecessor had chosen to join House Harrowmount in exile ("And good riddance to him," Bhelen said) and so the younger Ivo cousin had found himself in the top job. "Ready to begin, Grey Wardens?" he asked.

"Of course," Duncan and Brytta said simultaneously. Only the Wardens, Bhelen and Rica were here to witness the wedding ceremony, one used by the Grey since the end of the First Blight.

Milldrate nodded and began to intone the vows. "_In war, victory. In peace, vigilance. In death, sacrifice._ These words have defined the Grey Wardens since their founding during the First Blight. But the duty which cannot be foresworn need not be carried alone: two come before us, bound by blood and purpose, to be joined together in love, to share their burdens as members of the Grey, and to be remembered as one until the Memories themselves should fail."

He looked to Brytta; as a dwarf, it was tradition that she consent to the vows first. "Will you, Brytta, remain by the side of this Warden in war and victory, peace and vigilance, until death and the final sacrifice come?"

Brytta's beautiful mezzo-soprano was fervent as she simply replied, "Yes."

Milldrate looked to Duncan. "Will you, Duncan, remain by the side of this Warden in war and victory, peace and vigilance, until death and the final sacrifice come?"

Duncan found himself smiling as he responded with, "Of course."

"Then let it be recorded in the Memories that Warden-Commander Duncan and Warden-Ensign Brytta were married on this day. May the Stone accept you when you fall." Milldrate turned and laid his head upon the Wall of Memories in traditional supplication.

Duncan was too busy kneeling and kissing Brytta to pay attention. He could taste the sweetness of her mouth and the salt of her tears as he devoured her; she returned the favour as everyone cheered or clapped as suited their natures. Even Riordan, who disapproved of romantic relationships within the Wardens, cracked a smile and clapped. Atrast Hjarta and Fluffy howled their approval.

They only had an hour or two to consummate their marriage before they had to join the dwarves for the march to Redcliffe. But it was enough and more than enough for them, because it was better to taste briefly of love's sweetness than to live a long life without it. And since Duncan had done both, he found himself content to face the archdemon and see where the Maker and the djinn of the Fade's will fell.

…

Morrigan and Cailan raced ahead, using the amulets the Witch of the Wilds had created, to alert Loghain as to what was going on. They found him and the Fereldan army at Dragon's Peak, close to Denerim and going entirely in the wrong direction.

The perimeter guards nearly crapped themselves when they saw two eagles become human beings, one of them the former King of Ferelden. Cailan gave them a cheerful grin that belied the berserker's rage which boiled constantly beneath the surface. "Where's Loghain?" he asked.

"Busy, as in 'do not disturb me or I'll nail your nuts to a wall'," one of the guards replied nervously.

Cailan's eyes widened with glee. "Oooh, challenge accepted!"

"They're your nuts, your Maj- err, Grey Warden," the guard warned.

"Cailan, Morrigan! Thank the Maker you're alive!" Alistair's voice drew his brother's attention as he walked up to them. Morrigan took a deep, sharp breath of surprise when she saw the strip of faded blue cloth tied neatly across the ex-templar's eyes. "Tell me the bullshit's done in Orzammar."

"King Bhelen Aeducan and the dwarven army's on the march to Redcliffe," Cailan responded. "Maker's breath, what happened to you?"

"Anora was working with the intelligent darkspawn," the bastard said grimly. "The Architect's forces launched a sneak attack on us while we were parlaying with Howe and your bitch of a wife. Rendon's dead but Aedan Cousland and Anora have escaped, presumably to Denerim; we're going there now."

"No, you aren't." Cailan raised his voice so that everybody in earshot could hear him. "The archdemon has risen to the surface and we believe it to be somewhere near Redcliffe!"

"Believe?" Arl Leonas Bryland asked curtly as he pushed his way through a knot of stunned soldiers.

"Well, it hasn't exactly given us its itinerary, so we're basing this on the movements of the darkspawn and what the elder Wardens can 'hear'," Cailan admitted. "No doubt it's chosen that location because there are no Wardens there at present."

"That's matching with my recent nightmares," Alistair agreed quietly. "I keep on getting flashes of Lake Calenhad."

"Fuck." Leonas rubbed his forehead. "Eamon's going to shit himself."

"Teagan's in charge of the Redcliffe forces," Alistair told Cailan; for a blind man, he was certainly aware of his surroundings in a manner not unlike Duncan. "We'd better go get Loghain and Fergus."

"They're your nuts," the guard repeated as the three Grey Wardens made their way to the centre of the camp, where Loghain and Fergus always pitched their tents.

Gossip preceded them; Fergus emerged from the sapphire blue tent, painted with Chasind-style spirals, which he used as his headquarters. "I'll give the orders to move," the (presumably) new King promised. "You three go interrupt Loghain."

"Why is everybody so scared of interrupting Loghain?" Cailan asked as they trotted over to the plain brown tent, small and unassuming, that could only be the general-turned-Warden's.

"You'll see," Alistair replied with a humourless smile.

In later years, Cailan would reflect that ringing the bell attached to the tent-flap before opening it might have been a better decision in wake of suddenly developing a rogue's acrobatic skills to avoid the flame blast directed at him. Only Morrigan's ice spell saved him from looking like a roast nug as Loghain demonstrated a soldier's flair for language and a sailor's inventiveness. Cailan wasn't even sure two people could perform that particular sexual act, let alone a mermaid, a donkey and a piece of cheese.

The slim blonde girl he vaguely remembered staring at the Hero of the River Dane so long ago in Redcliffe stormed out, her mage robe in disarray as Loghain stuck his craggy, newly goateed face out of the tent. "Ding-dong, Wardens calling," the ex-King greeted with a sunny smile.

Cailan never recalled the punch to the jaw he received; he remembered standing one moment, sprawling on the ground and seeing stars the next. "What the hell is going on?" the Warden-Second demanded.

"The archdemon has risen; 'tis most likely on its way to Redcliffe," Morrigan informed him coolly.

Loghain went from fury to absolute stillness in a heartbeat, icy blue-grey eyes narrowing. "I can hear it," he admitted quietly. "I fear you are correct."

"Duncan and the others are with the dwarves on their way there," Cailan mumbled, his jaw swollen but not broken. Loghain was too good at punching to accidentally shatter a jaw.

"Good." Loghain turned and began bellowing orders for the men to prepare and move out as Parean, cheeks blazing, finished tying up her mage robe. She then touched the general's shoulder; he looked down and smiled in that small, private way Cailan noticed Duncan did with Brytta. Well, if anyone deserved a bit of happiness, it was the Hero of the River Dane.

He rubbed his jaw and rejoined Morrigan and Alistair, feeling a bit useless because the Wardens were superfluous at the moment. A touch and pulse of violet energy from Morrigan healed his jaw enough for him to speak easily; when he looked into the witch's face to thank her with a kiss, the hard glint to her golden gaze surprised him.

"Cailan, we must speak. 'Tis time to reveal my purpose for Flemeth sending me to accompany the Grey Wardens." She looked to Alistair. "I would have you stay, for 'tis of import to you as well."

And then she led them to a quiet corner of the camp and began to speak of a ritual performed in the dark of night on the eve of battle, one which promised salvation for the Wardens… at the cost of a child being born with the soul of an Old God – untainted, but still potent and dangerous. When she was finished talking, the ex-King stood up and looked blindly into the chaos of the camp preparing to move.

"I can't give you this child," he said. "I was sterile before the Joining."

"I know; if only 'twere different," the witch said softly, sadly. "Once I would have done this with only the thought of the power I would gain from it. Now I find myself bound and determined to see this through so that my brothers and sisters of the Grey might live."

"I would die for you, Morrigan," Cailan admitted starkly. "I would give you anything – even the soul of an Old God – if I could. Because I love you."

"I… love you too," she whispered softly. "I… could not bear it if you perished when I could prevent your end."

Alistair, hitherto silent, chuckled sourly. "And so you need me," he observed humourlessly.

"Yes," Morrigan answered, turning to the ex-templar. "I can offer you survival, Alistair, if you do this."

Cailan's younger brother smiled bleakly. "The best thing I could do for the Grey Wardens is to take the deathblow, Morrigan, so my survival isn't really a concern for me."

The berserker blinked. "But… you're my brother. I don't _want_ you to die, Alistair."

"Ending the Blight's the best thing I can do for the rest of you," Alistair argued. "You've got something to live for, all of you; I'm just the dumb bastard who fell for Sereda's schemes."

"When I said I did not wish any of my brothers and sisters to die, I included you!" Morrigan hissed. "Do not assume that we would not mourn you if you fell to the archdemon!"

Beneath the blindfold, Alistair looked surprised. "I… didn't know that. But… what of the child? Will it be hurt?"

"No, 'twill not be…" Morrigan began to pace nervously. "I had planned to go once the battle was done, to raise this child alone… But… I cannot. I do not think it wise to be amongst too many people with this child, not yet… but I have no desire to be on my own."

Cailan went to hug her. "I have a feeling it wouldn't be wise for me to hang around Ferelden when the Blight's through, because there's likely to be a very nasty civil war afterwards. No doubt we could have Duncan send us somewhere nice and isolated and raise the kid there."

Alistair's blindfolded face turned away for a long moment before he sighed. "Fine. I'll do it. I think this is going to bite us in the arse somehow, but if it will make you all happy, I'll do it."

Cailan released Morrigan to give his brother a big hug. "Thank you!"

Alistair returned the embrace briefly before stepping back. "Let me know when you need me," he said as he turned to walk away.

Cailan watched Alistair walk away and wished he could murder Sereda Aeducan again for what she'd done to his laughing little brother. Even if everyone survived the Blight, he would never get that cheese-loving, bad-joke-making, awkwardly shy Chantry boy again.


	23. Chaos

Note: Thanks for the reviews. I'm unsure of what is going to do in regards to this story with the recent crackdown on ratings, but I will continue posting it until the story is removed or not. If it is removed, you can find my work at Archiveofourown under the name Morninglight. I'm reaching the final battle now in order to get this baby finished… I hope you enjoy! I am already laying some groundwork for a future sequel.

These are the AU Wardens' specialties, for those who care about such things:

Duncan: Assassin/Duelist/Shadow

Brytta: Duelist/Legionnaire Scout

Alistair: Spirit Warrior/Templar

Sten: Champion

Cailan: Berserker/Reaver

Loghain: Champion/Guardian

Morrigan: Battlemage/Shapeshifter

Zevran: Assassin/Shadow

…

**Part 23: Chaos**

_So this is war._

Brytta had seen her fair share of intimate, small-scale violence but the sheer chaos of a battle involving thousands of living creatures all trying to kill each other was… disconcerting. She could 'hear' the archdemon directing its forces to destroy the army defending Redcliffe Castle as the Grey Wardens, individually or in pairs, tried to push through the tightly bottled scrum to reach the accursed creature. She'd lost track of Duncan some time ago, the only one watching her back now Atrast Hjarta, painted in a rarely used pattern of deep blue and white called Paint of the Grey Wardens.

All the pain. All the sorrow. All the blood, sweat and tears. All the deaths. Everything from the Proving to the rebellion led to this one bloody conflict upon which the fulcrum of the world's fate rested. For if this army fell, if the Grey Wardens failed, then Ferelden would be lost; maybe not Thedas since Riordan's people in Orlais would mobilise quickly – and the Empress was far less sceptical than Howe – but Ferelden… Yeah. Maybe even Orzammar too.

She'd made her farewells before the battle, the final one with Duncan slamming her up against a rocky red cliff and taking her hard and fast, calling each other "my love" repeatedly until they both cried. They knew that one or both of them wouldn't likely make it to the other side of today. That was fine by her. She'd had her time of happiness; now it was time to pay the carta's dues.

She'd relinquished sentiment to pragmatism: instead of her trusty iron daggers or the Aeducan mace Duncan had given her, she now wielded a matched pair of Grey Warden daggers forged from silverite and enchanted within an inch of their lives to cause maximum pain to darkspawn. They cut through rotting flesh like hot steel through butter as she ducked and wove through the knots of darkspawn looking to stop her. _This_ was what Duncan had conscripted her for. She could no more disappoint him than she could resist opening her big mouth or a good flagon of Valenta's Red.

And so as a good Duster did, she didn't bother playing fair: whatever worked – biting, kneeing, elbowing, backstabbing – she employed in her fight to reach the archdemon. She knew that Duncan and Riordan intended to take the deathblow before the younger Wardens – but if wishes were diamonds, Dusters would be Nobles. She'd fight like they wouldn't make it and hope for the best that Riordan took the blow.

Then she saw the cliffs surrounding the castle and had an idea of how to bring the beast down.

…

There was a certain comfort in being blind while fighting darkspawn: the sight of the vile horde no longer disturbed or sickened a person and so they could focus on killing the creatures.

Alistair was worried about the eventual consequences of Morrigan's ritual - including the too-awkward explanations to Weisshaupt on how the hell the Grey Warden who'd dealt the deathblow survived. He'd leave _that_ job to Cailan; it had been his big brother's idea, after all.

His job was to find and kill any emissaries, and now that his templar senses had been honed by the loss of his eyes, it was almost ridiculously easy to detect and counter their magic. He was reminded of Ser Otto, an elder templar who'd developed an uncanny knack for perceiving demons after having a rage demon burn half his face off; no doubt because he was a Grey Warden, the taint in his blood did the same for darkspawn… and the people in his Order. He could even detect individual Wardens: interestingly, Duncan's taint was no worse than Brytta's while Riordan was probably a few months out from the Calling.

_I should've refused the ritual,_ he thought now and then in the heat of battle, but then he recalled the people who would die if he couldn't make the deathblow. Cailan and Morrigan, probably the most unlikely couple in Thedas; Brytta and Duncan, soulmates; Daveth and Sten and Loghain and Zevran… Even Atrast Hjarta and Fluffy.

So he fought until his body ached, unleashed magic-disrupting strikes and fields until his nose began to bleed and his limbs felt cold from using his own life force, and slowly made his way to the archdemon. He could sense Brytta nearby, heading for the cliffs; it didn't take a genius to figure out that the Duster was going to try and climb them to jump on the archdemon's back to bring it down.

She also had a hurlock omega targeting her with what looked to be some kind of _very_ vicious blood magic spell.

It wasn't a struggle to shift his grip on his longsword until he gripped the blade with gauntleted fingers and throw the weapon like a spear towards the hurlock, channelling every last bit of energy he could muster into a single critical cleansing strike. He grinned in triumph as he felt it connect, disrupting the omega enough to be put down by… Sten… he thought.

Unfortunately, it meant that he was now a) weaponless and b) surrounded by a band of pissed-off darkspawn. Oh well. He'd never expected to survive this battle – hadn't even planned on it – and Cailan could hardly yell at him for deliberately throwing away his life now, could he?

He countered a few blows with his shield and then received some kind of blunt force trauma, delivered with precision, which knocked him out neatly.

…

_It is a pleasure to be killing something which truly deserves it._

Zevran saw his fellow Grey Warden fall under the neatly delivered blow of a hurlock's mace and allowed himself a savage grin. Even blind Alistair was a skilled fighter, truly beautiful to behold in the throes of violence; the blue cloth tied around his eyes only enhanced the strong, scar-seamed features and shoulder-length brandy-hued hair. The assassin wanted to return to Orzammar and murder Sereda Aeducan again for ripping out the ex-templar's belief in himself and his worthiness. Alistair was courting death… much like Zevran had.

It appeared that Brytta was climbing the cliffs to try and bring down the archdemon; the dwarf, armed with that Dalish bow of hers, was almost as skilled an archer as she was a duelist. If the archdemon could be brought down, then a fool like Riordan could slaughter the beast so that Zevran's friends – all of them – could survive. And that included the shy, cheese-loving Alistair.

Zevran carefully lined up a shot and planted an arrow in the throat of a genlock about to brain the blind Warden for good. The half-dozen or so darkspawn all looked in his direction… a bad move since they took their attention off Sten, who came rushing over with a war cry and a mighty swing of his precious Asala that left four of them dead in one blow. Two more arrows felled the remaining genlocks.

"Stand guard over the Arvaraad," Sten commanded Zev. "If more darkspawn saarebas come, he will be needed, hand of the Wardens."

"Of course," Zevran agreed, nocking an arrow to his Antivan bow as he assumed a guard position over the prone Alistair. Sten was an excellent squad leader; not imaginative, but certainly skilled at reacting to most circumstances on the battlefield. He was an excellent Warden.

It was a strange thing for the assassin to be considering himself part of a greater whole… willingly. If they survived the Blight, the Crows' reaction to one of their number being a Grey Warden should be… interesting. Maybe they would even leave him alone since he was going to die eventually.

It was even stranger to be trusted with Alistair's protection; Zev had never been trusted before. But the other Wardens did trust him to watch their backs; perhaps they trusted in the taint to keep him leashed, but it was still a pleasant sensation to be so readily accepted.

So the assassin watched over the ex-templar and allowed himself to lazily shoot any darkspawn actually stupid enough to approach them. They would survive; he wouldn't have it any other way.

…

"We need to conscript that girl," Cailan observed absently as Loghain's girlfriend Parean unleashed a fiery tempest which turned an entire battalion of darkspawn into charred meat.

"She is strong enough," agreed Morrigan as she pointed her staff at the hurlock vanguard commanding the left flank of the archdemon's army and infused its tainted flesh with a timed explosive spell, following it up with a simple ice spell. Once it was dead, it exploded and killed several dozen darkspawn, including three alphas.

The armies were fighting valiantly; though the Dalish in particular had been reluctant to take orders from Loghain, their Keeper Lanaya had persuaded them to obey, pointing out that even the wandering elves knew of the legend of the Hero of the River Dane. Cailan wished he'd been wiser at Ostagar; maybe that was why Howe turned traitor?

No, Howe's plan had been to abandon them from the start. But the Arl of Amaranthine had been essentially spineless – treacherous, but too cowardly to dare such open treason. Who'd given him the idea? Anora? Maybe even his son-in-law Aedan Cousland…

It didn't matter to Cailan. He was a Grey Warden now and when this damned fight was over, he and Morrigan were going to find a nice remote outpost and raise Alistair's child… The ex-templar had made it _abundantly_ clear he wanted nothing to do with this and still considered it a mistake. He only did it because his brother asked it of him.

_Poor Alistair._ Life had shit on the poor bastard in so many ways but he kept marching on. For his sake, he'd need to live Ferelden too… Maybe Antiva? Plenty of beautiful women, a nice warm climate, all the brandy an ex-templar could drink… He'd make the suggestion to Duncan when this was over.

_That's what my little brother needs, a nice holiday! I'll even send Zev along with him – what could possibly go wrong? Now, we just need to kill this fucking archdemon…_

In some things, Cailan _hadn't_ changed at all.

…

The body of the Grey Wardens was truly united and each served their purpose well. Sten had no doubts that the Blight would be defeated here, for all within were set upon their purpose and fulfilled it, even the armies gathered to fight the archdemon.

Sten was content to serve beneath Loghain, a man worthy of the title of Arivashok (a poor title for a Warden-Commander, but the best the Kossith could come up with minus the guidance of a Tamrassan) when Duncan laid the burden down. Hints he had teased from overhearing conversations between Cailan, Morrigan and Alistair indicated the witch had performed some kind of ritual which would permit the Grey Wardens to survive killing an archdemon. Magic was dangerous if unleashed… but Morrigan and even the sorceress Wynne, host to some kind of good Fade spirit, had proven themselves. Perhaps the taint or the hosting of a good spirit allowed mages to control themselves? A point to consider when the Arishok's emissaries came looking for Sten.

He looked up to see that Brytta had almost gained the top of the cliff. A brave, perhaps even foolhardy move – but the dwarf girl was a soldier worthy of the Beresaad. If it was his kadan's wish to take the deathblow, then it was Sten's duty to see it done.

He found himself fighting alongside Duncan soon enough, telling the Warden-Commander truthfully where Brytta had gone. The dark-skinned man's face had twisted with anguish but like a true Ben-Hassrath he focused on his mission: killing darkspawn. It was most likely all Brytta could do was bring down the archdemon so that another Warden could take the blow.

Sten didn't desire such an honour. He knew himself well enough to accept that being Qunoran Vehl was beyond him; he was content to serve his purpose in small ways. The spine, after all, did not seek glory yet was the support of all the body.

He smiled subtly and roared another war cry. Duncan followed him, a shadow that melted in and out of the eye like a wraith, dealing death with twinned swords. The Rivaini had passed on some of his tricks to his kadan (it was a strange thing to share a heart) but where the dwarf girl was more prone to standing her ground, Duncan moved with economic grace. In some ways, Sten mused, the Tamassrans could use Duncan's skill as a metaphor for the Qun: soft, relentless… and unstoppable.

Victory would be won. And Sten would see it happen. It was his purpose.

…

'Twas easy enough to unleash rampant slaughter upon the darkspawn with spells of ice and wind and death as she waited for the archdemon to die. Morrigan had never doubted that she would not abandon the purpose to which Flemeth had set her… but the reasons had changed. From the desire of power for its own sake to the desire for power to protect… Such a simple natural progression since she had met the Wardens… and Cailan in particular.

Morrigan was unused to friendship, affection, trust and even simple respect. Brytta had automatically been polite to her – not the politeness of fear, but that of respect, of equals – from their first meeting. It had never occurred to the Duster to treat Morrigan as anything other than a person worthy of respect and friendship… probably because the dwarf had been so insulted and abused by her society. The witch considered the dwarf her sister and knew the feeling was mutual.

Then there was Duncan, a man who had shown concern for her own safety upon meeting her! Oh, Morrigan knew he wanted her in the Wardens for her own skills, but he'd allowed her to come or go as she pleased because he respected her right to make her own choices. He also truly cared for the rag-tag band of Grey Wardens and sincerely mourned those who died… yet necessity would not stop him from letting them perish if it stopped the Blight. She could respect that. She would save him for Brytta.

Alistair… He should have been her natural enemy because of his templar ways and utter naivety. But he had lost that innocence because of that bitch Sereda… Morrigan found herself missing the bad jokes and shyness of Cailan's little brother, worrying for the blind death-seeker he had become. So did Cailan… Morrigan wished she could have found another man to sire the child – perhaps Daveth? – but Alistair was the only one she knew could be coaxed into doing it for the sake of the others. And raising the ex-templar's child would be nearly as good as raising Cailan's own offspring…

She even found herself worried for Sten. The Kossith had gotten over his anti-mage bias (at least when it came to her) and granted her some respect. He was truly the backbone of the Grey Wardens with his relentless nature… and he had compared her to a beautiful, carnivorous plant! How sweet was that?

In another time and place she might have seduced Zevran or allowed the Antivan elf to seduce her; he was attractive, presumably a skilled lover, and just amoral enough to please her. But there was Cailan… and while she knew the elf would be up to sharing, Morrigan had no desire to. Cailan was hers!

Daveth: native to her very own marshes, the ranger who liked to pretend he had no heart. In another life, she and he could have made a wonderful pair… but the wolf-friend had never made a move for her. Once, it had been him or Cailan… but the berserker had been interested and the ranger too scared. Still, he was a Warden and a most practical one; she considered him a good friend.

She knew little of Loghain; the general had shared the story of his meeting her mother with King Maric so many years ago and even she knew of his reputation as a general, but Morrigan knew little about the man. At least she had saved him for the mage Parean, a woman Morrigan hoped to know better; she would make an excellent Grey Warden.

And finally there was Cailan: beautiful golden feckless reckless Cailan. The man had been a poor King, too restless and unfocused and glory-hungry to rule but too stubborn, proud and desirous of his father's approval to walk away. Somehow that legendary Theirin charisma had wormed past Morrigan's defences and into her heart; the primal rage which lurked beneath his easygoing smile and laughing blue eyes had engaged her darker side. For all his love of glory and tales, he was a remarkably worldly individual, more so than Morrigan; she had great pleasure with him in bed… and discovered she enjoyed his company outside of it. That he'd been willing to make himself a wreck physically to destroy her mother… that had made her love him. He'd saved her. She wished she could have had his child.

No, Morrigan had no regrets about going through with her mother's plans. This child would be a chance of freedom for an old power… but it would also have a family. She and Cailan may choose to go somewhere distant but she would remain in contact with the other Wardens. They were her family after all.

…

Daveth had no illusions about the Grey Wardens' chance for survival in this bloody battle… but the marsh man had been living on borrowed time since Duncan saved him from hanging anyways. He'd lived more in the past year than he had in the previous twenty; he was content, he supposed, though it would kind of suck to die before he saw more of the world.

Atrast Hjarta came barrelling through a scrum of darkspawn, yelping frantically. _Wolf-lover, my two-legs is climbing the rock to face the big wrong-smelling winged lizard! We need to stop her!_

Daveth looked up – lo and behold, Brytta had gained the top of the cliff none too far from where the archdemon hovered, belching fires and roaring orders to the horde below. She panted heavily, pausing for a moment, as the baleful head of the tainted scarlet-and-gold dragon begun to swing her way.

The marsh man unlimbered his Wilds Bow as Fluffy and Hjarta held off the ground-bound darkspawn with howls and savagery, nocking an arrow dipped in Crow poison as he sighted along its shaft and one big fiery eye. As a gout of corrupted violet flame burst from the archdemon's maw, Daveth let the arrow fly; it struck true, causing the beast to rear in agony, only a few licks of flame striking the dwarf.

Brytta was quick: she unlimbered her Dalish bow as the archdemon turned its one good eye in her direction and with the skill of an experienced archer, planted an ordinary arrow in the exposed orb. It didn't do much more than nick it, but even one blind eye and a nicked one gave the Grey Wardens a massive advantage.

The Orlesian bloke Riordan finally made himself useful, having slipped away in the chaos to take the pathway to the cliff-top where Brytta stood. He and Brytta spoke briefly before the dying Warden took a few steps back… and then did a running leap off the cliff to land on the archdemon's back, longsword drawn.

Daveth watched as Riordan planted his sword in the archdemon's snaky neck, making the creature twist and buck in an attempt to get the threat off its back. It succeeded… But Riordan gripped the sword in the beast's neck, his weight dragging him and it down across the bit where the right wing met the dragon's main body… and then he fell off.

He didn't need to hear the splat to know that Riordan hadn't survived the fall, but one objective had been achieved – the archdemon fell, wailing and thrashing, onto the battlefield, crushing much of its own horde. Daveth spared a quick look up to see Brytta dashing for the path which would bring her back into the Redcliffe valley to rejoin the fight.

Now the fight would only get uglier… and Daveth knew he could count the lives of himself and friends in minutes, maybe an hour. But the end was in sight. And he was fine with that.

…

_I guess the Fereldan in Riordan won out,_ Loghain thought with reluctant admiration as he felt the archdemon hit the ground. The general paused for a deep breath and prepared to wade into the thickest part of the battle towards the tainted god; he could see the other Wardens doing the same – there might just be an argument over who got the deathblow!

Loghain spared Parean a quick farewell smile; the blonde mage realised what was going on and yelled something lost in the din of battle – probably "Don't you dare!" But the Hero of the River Dane (Maker's breath, he'd always loathed that title!) would be glad to die for Ferelden… Because to be honest, he really didn't want to live in the place his beloved country had become.

It broke his heart to know that a bitter civil war would follow on the heels of this Blight… and he couldn't help. In the evening preceding the battle, Duncan had made it abundantly clear that he, Cailan and Alistair would have to leave Ferelden to avoid complicating the political situation any further. The Fereldans would have to sort out their own issues without any interference from the Grey Wardens.

_Maric, my friend, I am glad you're not here to see this, _Loghain thought sadly as he fought his way through the desperate waves of darkspawn. The archdemon felt its death approaching and unleashed gouts of violet fire indiscriminately as it tried – and failed – to return to the air.

It would have broken Maric's heart to know what was going on in Ferelden; it was like all those years of heartbreak, heartache and sacrifice were for nothing. Loghain had lost a portion of his soul the day Maric's ship sunk off Wycombe; watching Ferelden become poisoned with intrigue and political infighting had done the rest.

If he didn't die here, maybe leaving the kingdom would be good for him. Duncan had promised he wouldn't be sent to Orlais – given his leadership and military credentials, a transfer to Weisshaupt itself was more likely. Parean had already informed him – not asked, but told him – that she would be going wherever he did. She was a strong woman and probably a better one than he deserved.

He slaughtered a knot of genlocks, feeling every bruise and minor wound he'd picked up, and found himself facing Duncan. The Warden-Commander's dark skin was beaded with sweat as he panted harshly, fathomless eyes flicking in the direction of the weakening darkspawn. "I… am… the eldest…" he told Loghain. "I will take… the deathblow…"

"I am not afraid to die for Ferelden!" Loghain retorted. "Spend your last few years with Brytta, Duncan. You've earned it."

Duncan's eyes crinkled with amusement. "And explain to your girlfriend that I let you die? Oh no. I'm not that brave."

"No, _you'll_ leave it to _me_ to tell Brytta I let you die. All Parean would do is set you on fire… Brytta would flay me, cut my bones out, and feed them to Atrast Hjarta while I watched."

Duncan was about to make a retort when the archdemon arched its neck and breathed a desperate gout of flame at the small, auburn-haired figure who'd just picked up a two-handed sword and ran towards it. _"MaHábba!"_ he screamed. "No! Let me take the blow!"

…

Duncan screamed in anguish as Brytta – beautiful brave Brytta – slid the greatsword along the archdemon's long snaky throat, bringing the head crashing down to the ground. Then he collected himself and began to run, lashing out at whatever was in his way to reach Brytta as she stood, panting, and prepared to stab the blade into the creature's skull.

He managed to get there and wrap his gauntleted hands around the sword-blade. "I… will… take… it…" he ordered. "Please, _maHábba_… Give me this. I want you to live."

Brytta looked up at him with her beautiful malachite-green eyes, as defiant as the day he'd first met her. "I lied, _hjarta af minn hjarta._"

Duncan stared at her. "What do you mean?"

"I'm not strong enough to go on without you. If you take the deathblow, I'm going to the Deep Roads."

The Warden-Commander closed his eyes, tears trickling down his bearded cheeks. "I… lied too. I… could not… live without you."

Brytta pulled on his arm until he fell to his knees and kissed him deeply. "D' you reckon this thing will die if two Wardens take the deathblow?" she asked when they broke apart.

Duncan smiled sadly. "I don't know."

"Let's find out." She repositioned herself until her back was to his chest and both of them held the greatsword; the archdemon watched them balefully, helplessly, some malignant intelligence flickering with recognition of what lay between them.

Then as one they plunged the sword into the archdemon's head and pulled, dragging the heavy blade through its skull as light and noise consumed the world around them.


	24. Aftermath

Note: Thanks for sticking around with what was meant to start out as a few-part one-shot romance/tragedy story and involved into a whole universe in its own right. The Original Frizzi, Isabeau of Greenlea, sn0w0wl, Judy, Pegueng, Draygonne61, melgonzo, Aritha and anybody else I've missed kept this story expanding. You guys have been feeding the plot nugs, I know you have! Thanks for keeping me writing, guys. :)

There will be one more chapter after this.

…

**Part 24: Aftermath**

"Sacre bleu!"

_What the fuck is Thierry duPond doing here?_ Duncan thought muzzily as the Orlesian Warden-Commander's voice cut through the soft, comfortable darkness he'd been residing in since he and Brytta had slain the archdemon. _Shouldn't he be in Val Royeaux with his head so far up the Empress' slit he never sees daylight?_

"A curious thing it is indeed: an archdemon slain… and those who slew it yet alive," the mocking Antivan drawl that could only belong to Rennio d'Antiva, the Black Griffin, mused in the silence following Thierry's curse.

"The creature is indisputably dead," agreed Tariq of Diarsmuid's soft Rivaini accent. "I am inclined to believe that two Wardens, taking the deathblow, allowed them to somehow survive… and remember one was a dwarf. Perhaps her natural resistance to magic played a part in it."

"And what if some darker reason played a part in their survival?" Stroud of Ansburg countered.

"The archdemon's soul is gone and I detect nothing of it lingering in either of them," Tariq, who was a mage and powerful Spirit Healer, retorted. "If there is another reason for their survival, I shall worry about it when it comes to light."

"You should all leave and let them rest," Wynne said tartly. "Don't you have intelligent darkspawn to worry about?"

"Loghain should have kept his fucking mouth shut," Thierry complained. "Stupid Fereldan bast-"

The sound of metal striking flesh was followed by a thud as Loghain observed dryly, "My apologies, Warden-Commanders. My fist slipped."

Tariq laughed. "We saw nothing, brother! You have done what all of us have wanted to for years!"

Duncan groaned and opened his eyes to find the general looking down at him. "Good, you're awake. Brytta's been up for two days and is driving everyone insane."

"I have not!" his little Dust Town diamond retorted; Duncan turned his head to see the dwarf sitting on a cot next to his, a streak of white running through her auburn hair.

"Excuse me? You were making unreasonable demands," Wynne told the Duster indignantly.

"A cask of Valenta Red for kicking an archdemon's ass is _not_ an unreasonable demand," Brytta pointed out – quite reasonably. Then his wife – so strange to think that word! – hopped off the cot to throw her arms around Duncan as Loghain helped him to sit up. "By the Stone-cursed tits of my mother's mothers, I am so glad you're alive!"

Duncan returned the embrace desperately. "You're stuck with me yet it seems," he replied, burying his face in that soft auburn hair. "_MaHábba_… I do not know why we are alive, but I will not ask questions of the Maker or the djinn – I will instead be grateful for their mercies."

"So the mighty Duncan has fallen hard indeed," Rennio drawled; Duncan could imagine the Antivan's smirk. The Black Griffin was the reason he really disliked Antivans.

"Ignore him. He's just pissed he didn't get to kill the archdemon," Loghain said with a grin.

"I have every right to be! Assassinating an archdemon would have made me the greatest Crow who ever lived!"

"It would have also made you very dead," the Hero of the River Dane pointed out.

"I am on my Calling," Rennio responded serenely. That made everyone in the tent fall silent and stare at the lean, grey-haired Antivan. Duncan blinked as he realised the Black Griffin wore the plain blue leathers of a rank-and-file Warden, not his articulated dragonbone-and-drakeskin scale with its unique sable hue.

"Who's taking your job?" Tariq asked, sounding a little surprised. Even though Rennio had seen close to three decades as the Black Griffin, it was still a shock to see a legend inside and outside of the Wardens preparing to die.

A flash of bitterness filled the Antivan's eyes as he replied, "The First Warden saw fit to conscript my foster daughter and put her through the Joining. It shall no doubt be she."

"Ah." Stroud sounded sympathetic. "I am sorry."  
"As am I. But what's done is done." Rennio shrugged and then looked at Duncan. "I would like to dispatch Zevran back to Antiva. He will be needed there."

"Is it political?" Duncan asked with a sigh. "Because we were rather forced into the position of getting involved in Fereldan politics by Rendon Howe's actions…"

"No. There is… trouble… in the garrisons in Antiva." Rennio shrugged. "It is neither my concern nor yours."

"If you're sending one of my people there, it damned well is my concern," Duncan growled.

"Some of the Antivan Wardens are getting restless without purpose." Rennio shrugged again. "Zevran is quite capable of cutting the throats of the main offenders."

"If I didn't know better, I'd say you'd been speaking to Cailan," Loghain observed as Wynne left the tent, obviously uncomfortable in the presence of so many Wardens. "He suggested sending Alistair and Zevran to Antiva for a holiday."

"That… is no bad idea," Duncan agreed. "It would do Alistair good to be away from Ferelden."

Loghain nodded. "Cailan and Morrigan have requested to be sent back to the Korcari Wilds to oversee the reclamation efforts by the Chasind."

"Another good idea. We ought to reclaim that outpost." Duncan sighed and hugged Brytta, who'd remained silent and attentive, tightly. "I think they'll be happier there."

"Indeed." Loghain rubbed his scarred chin thoughtfully. "Sten, Parean and I will be going to Weisshaupt to make the report to the First Warden in person."

"Parean is a Grey Warden?" Duncan asked, a little surprised. He knew the mage was infatuated with Loghain, but to go so far…?

"Morrigan put her through the Joining before I even knew Parean had asked." Loghain sighed. "It is… not what I'd expected, though I shouldn't be surprised. I only hope she won't regret it."

"She won't," Brytta said confidently. "You can tell with the ones who _want_ to be Wardens. Like it or not, Loghain, you're stuck with her."

The general cracked a thin smile. "Perceptive as always, Brytta."

"I know." The Duster sounded smug. "So… what's happening to me, Duncan and Daveth?"

"For his proactivity during the Orzammar crisis, Daveth is being made Warden-Commander of Ferelden," Loghain informed them with a smile.

Duncan stared at the general. "Ah… I thought I held that job."

"The First Warden's decided otherwise," Stroud responded. "With Bhelen's request for a garrison in Orzammar, we will need skilled, talented… _diplomatic_ Wardens."

"He can't be talking about me then," Brytta murmured.

"No, he isn't." Stroud, who was a lot like Sten but without the kossith's sly sarcastic sense of humour to offset his dourness, was completely serious. "Unfortunately, Bhelen has requested his sister and her husband… which would be you two."

Duncan sighed. "I had hoped to retire to Cloudfields with so few years left…"

"Do not be stupid." Morrigan's voice spoke from the tent-flap. "You have rather more than you might think."

"Indeed," Tariq agreed. "My brother, I was there when you and Fiona came to us in the wake of the Architect incident. Her taint was gone… but somehow yours has stabilised. It is my opinion, my brother, you will die of old age before you reach the Calling – or close enough."

"…I see." Duncan wasn't going to question either Morrigan or Tariq in this but instead thank the Maker and the djinn of the Fade for their mercies. No doubt the First Warden would have questions…

…He could go piss in the wind for the answers. Because all Duncan wanted was to have some time alone with his wife and come to terms with the fact that he – and she – would have a future together.

"Heh. I think we are no longer wanted here," Rennio observed with some amusement as Thierry duPond came to with a groan. He touched his forehead in salute to the other Wardens. "Farewell, my friends. _Vivere bene ed amare spesso_: Live well and love often."

"Atrast tunsha, brother," Brytta replied with a sad smile as Duncan said, "Goodbye, Rennio. You will be missed."

"_Auf Wiedersehen_," Stroud said as Tariq added, "_Ma'a salama_."

The Black Griffin simply nodded and exited the tent, Morrigan making way for him with a bow of her head. Duncan sighed yet again and kissed the top of Brytta's head. "It somehow seems unfair that a man like Rennio, who has done so much more for the Wardens than I, should not have the same blessings the Maker and djinn have seen fit to give me."

"Rennio was given different blessings," Tariq said consolingly. "We make do with what the djinn give us and are glad of it."

The Rivaini mage smiled as he sketched a gesture of blessing. "I will be travelling with you to Orzammar as I wish to see the fabled city of the dwarves before my own Calling is come. _Ma'a salama_, brothers and sisters – peace be with you." He bowed his head and left.

Stroud frowned slightly. "I am worried about the news of the intelligent darkspawn being made public, Duncan."

"Ah! Loghain hit me!" Thierry muttered. "That Fereldan bast-"

"He really needs to figure out the correlation between calling me a Fereldan bastard and my fist slipping," Loghain observed dryly as Thierry collapsed after getting a second punch to the jaw.

Stroud glared at the general. "You shouldn't be striking a Warden-Commander!"

"If Parean heard the insult, 'twould be a _burning_ Warden-Commander upon the floor," Morrigan observed with cool amusement.

Stroud sighed and picked Thierry up. "I will be glad to return to Ansburg. This place is full of insane people." The Senior Warden didn't even bother to say farewell but instead left the tent, much to Duncan's relief. The man might be reliable… but he was also an uptight dick at times.

"And I hear the Wardens at Weisshaupt are even worse," Loghain mused sarcastically. Then the general sighed, rubbing his goateed chin. "Fergus tells me he's secured safe passage for the Wardens and non-Fereldan armies from all sides of the civil war: we will be free to leave any time we want."

Duncan looked sympathetically at Loghain. "I know it must be hard to walk away from the land you love so much."

Loghain's smile was bitter. "It isn't the land I and Maric fought so hard for, Duncan. Or perhaps I am just too old and the land has changed too much." He sighed. "The presence of the Wardens is the only thing keeping the armies from engaging each other."

"Then I think we should go before we get caught up in it… Do you think Daveth will be alright to handle everything on his own?" Duncan had faith in the ranger, but was worried with a civil war about to start…

"Stroud, Tariq and Rennio have left ten Wardens each," Loghain promptly replied. "Aedan and Anora let them through… Thierry's people will be accompanying you and Bhelen's army to Orzammar. Sten, Parean and I will join you as far as Highever, where we will take ship for the Anderfels."

"Do people actually not understand that Anora was working with the smart darkspawn?" Brytta asked, aghast.

"It is only we who make that claim… and again, there are those who would like to think the Blights could be ended forever," Loghain sighed. "My daughter probably thinks she's doing the right thing."

"Your daughter's doing the stupid thing, Loghain. But there's fuck-all we can do about it because we're being sent to Orzammar," Duncan growled. "At least Bhelen takes us seriously!"

"True," Loghain sighed. "There is… nothing I can do. And that is hardest of it all."

"Salroka, sometimes the best thing to do is walk away," Brytta said quietly. "Your daughter's made her choices. You aren't responsible for them."

Duncan nodded in agreement. "Go to Weisshaupt. I know you will find more peace than you think there."

"I doubt it, but thank you, Duncan. We leave on the morrow." Loghain left, only Morrigan remaining.

"I am glad to see you both live," she said warmly. "'Tis my hope that we shall see each other again."

Duncan smiled. "Of course, Morrigan. I trust Cailan will also make his goodbyes?"

"On the morrow, my friend. You two should rest… I do not think this truce will last much longer and we shall need to leave swiftly." The witch closed the tent-flap as she lived, finally leaving Duncan and Brytta alone.

"I… feel like we've got unfinished business," Duncan finally said. "The Architect is still out there, meddling in politics of all things…"

Brytta shrugged. "We'll deal with him or future Wardens will. But there's nothing we can do, salroka, but get the fuck out of here before shit gets bad."

"Do you think Daveth can handle it?" Duncan asked, brushing the white lock out of her eyes.

"Of course. I betcha we head back to Orzammar and within six months, there will be peace in Ferelden because he fed them all to wolves…" Brytta frowned. "Hey, anybody know what's gonna happen with Shale?"

"I shall be accompanying the jeweller and the dark Warden to Orzammar," rumbled the golem from the other side of the tent. "There are few birds there… and plenty of obnoxious dwarves to squish if I get bored."

"Great!" Brytta enthused. Then she lost her smile and looked at Duncan. "…You know Riordan died to bring the archdemon down, right?"

Duncan nodded and sighed. "Yes. He died well…" The part-Rivaini sighed. "We shall have to give him a funeral… It seems wrong that we have lived where so many others fell."

"You can feel bad, but I don't," Brytta said tartly. "We take each day at a time and thank the Ancestors for the life we have."

_"MaHábba,"_ Duncan whispered. "You have such an uncomplicated view on life…"  
"Why? I'm alive, they're dead. Yeah, it sucks they died, but hey – we're not dead. We can drink to them at Tapster's."

Duncan shook his head with a half-sigh, half-laugh. "Ah, my little diamond. What am I to do with you?"

Brytta slipped her hand under his blanket to find him eager. "Show me how much you love me?"

And he did.


	25. Homecoming

Note: Well, it's been a wild and crazy ride. Thanks again for supporting me in this, guys – I couldn't have done it without you.

I want to at least get _The Game of Princes_ advanced to the Landsmeet, if not further, before I start the sequel… Then again, who knows? :P

Thanks a tonne; I never knew Duncan and Brytta would be so popular…

…

**Part 25: Homecoming**

Gherlen's Pass was packed with refugees fleeing the Blight… and Ferelden's civil war. Brytta looked at the gaunt, pinched faces with haunted eyes, the children who'd grown up too fast, too soon, and cursed every damn fool and monster from Orzammar to Ostagar for stupidity, evil and pride. Duncan was right when he said the political struggle in Ferelden wasn't the Grey Wardens' responsibility… but the woman she had become couldn't stand by and watch the innocent suffer. _"The best Grey Wardens are ruthless to their enemies, compassionate to their friends, and inspiring to their troops."_ How many times had her husband said that?

When she saw a familiar face amidst a pack of tattered, battered refugees, her curses blistered the air as she urged her mule – a gift from Fergus Cousland – into a faster trot and broke away from Bhelen's party. Angus, the gatekeeper of Cloudfields, looked over to the dwarven Warden and managed a smile. "Warden Brytta!" he called. "'Tis good t' see ye."

"And you, Angus," she replied. "I take it Cloudfields had to be… evacuated?"

"'Twasn't the soddin' darkspawn but Arl Wulff's men that turned us out," Angus replied bitterly. "All b'cause we refused t' give 'em half our crops an' all our sons for the militia."

"Sonuvabitch," Brytta muttered. "Ferelden's a fucking mess at the moment… On the upside, the archdemon's dead."

"'Tis good t' know," Angus said with a weak smile. "Ye returnin' t' Orzammar then?"

"Yeah…" Brytta sighed. "What're your plans?"

"Head past Gherlen's Gates an' see if the dwarfs don't mind us sittin' on their ceilin'," Angus replied. "Ye reckon they would?"

Brytta grinned. "Salroka, my brother-in-law's the king of Orzammar. Reckon if I put it to him the right way, he'll at least consider it."

"Consider what?" Bhelen, resplendent in his runed dragonbone plate armour, and Duncan joined the Cloudfields refugees.

"We've got lots of folks fleein' darkspawn or the bastards in the lowlands," Angus told the dwarven King. "We're lookin' t' settle topside of Orzammar's mountain, hopin' t' trade with yer folk if ye'll let us."

Bhelen looked at the several hundred refugees and their animals thoughtfully. Then he slowly smiled, his blue eyes glinting avariciously. "I think… if you don't mind answering to the King of Orzammar… something could be arranged."

"The Assembly's going to shit bricks," Denek Helmi warned; since Vartag Galvorn had arisen to head of his small House, the progressive deshyr had taken over his duties as Second to Bhelen.

"I'm sorry; since when did you give a shit about the Assembly?" Bhelen asked of the Noble.

"Since never," Denek admitted cheerfully. "In fact, I'm thinking of grabbing some fried nug bits, a flagon of Valenta Red, and my favourite concubine to sit back and watch the entertainment when you bring it up at the next session, King Bhelen."

Brytta jerked her thumb at the Noble. "I _like_ him."

"You would," Duncan said with an amused smile.

Angus' eyes widened before he grinned. "I reckon 'twouldn't be a bad idea, yer Majesty. Plenty of untapped valleys an' surface quarries on yer mountain; ye give us protection, we give ye tithes an' first pick of the goods. 'Tis how we always done thin's in Cloudfields."

Bhelen grinned like a little boy with a free run in a confectioner's shop. "You think like a dwarf. We, my friend, are going to bleed the topsiders dry."

"Most of the Cloudfielders are part-dwarven," Brytta told the King. "So they've got the Stone in their blood."

Bhelen nodded as he looked up at the distant statues which marked Gherlen's Gates and the beginning of dwarven territory. "We need to get that trading post up there organised too… Since it's neutral territory, Duncan, would your people be willing to administrate it and guard the topside villages? You'd get first pick of the metal goods and harvest once these folk had taken care of their needs."

Duncan blinked as Brytta grinned. It would keep the Grey Wardens stationed in Orzammar out of trouble and provide a much needed source of regular tithes. Then her husband looked over to the twenty-two Wardens, five each from the four foreign garrisons which had come to combat the Blight in addition to Tariq and Rennio, expectantly.

The Antivan, whose close-cropped hair was beginning to fall out as the Calling progressed, nodded approvingly. "I have always felt we are too isolated from the people," he murmured quietly. "We offer… nothing… between Blights. We cannot continue like this."

Tariq shrugged eloquently. "I trust your judgment, brother. It is not so different to what we do in Rivain with the smaller villages."

"Or the Free Marches," agreed Erik, a big blond axeman from Anderfels. Most of the Wardens Duncan had been given were steady, experienced people with a minimum of five years in the Grey. He was grateful for them… though he missed his gang of 'lunatics.'

Cailan and Morrigan had returned with a group of Chasind to the Korcari Wilds, accompanied by the Dalish who sought to return to the Brecilian Forest… There were already discussions amongst the wandering elven clans of claiming some of the cold southern lands for their own now that a significant portion of the Chasind were following Fergus Cousland as their 'Great Chief'. The marsh tribes apparently had a good relationship (for shems and elves) with the Dalish; Morrigan and Cailan would have many allies and recruits from those peoples.

Loghain, Parean and Sten had departed from Highever for Weisshaupt under cover of darkness as the Hero of the River Dane was wanted for the 'murder' of Rendon Howe. Aedan and Anora controlled Ferelden from Denerim to Amaranthine; the former's father Bryce, Teyrn of Highever, had succumbed to complications from his brainstorm and died cursing the names of all his children. Eleanor, Oriana and Oren Cousland had chosen to go into exile until either Fergus or Aedan had won the civil war; probably Antiva as that was where Mara Cousland and Rennio's mother's people were. Alistair and Zevran had been on their ship, the former resigned and the latter eager to return home.

Fergus controlled much of the south, including Gwaren, and was allowing free passage of refugees; Arl Eamon had ceded control of Redcliffe to his brother Teagan and elected to travel to Orlais with Isolde to no doubt wait out the conflict. Teagan and Leonas Bryland were firmly allied with the Cousland heir while Arl Wulff was slowly expanding his power into Highever proper.

It would be a long and bloody conflict for Daveth to somehow remain neutral in; all sides were desperately trying to court the Grey Wardens' favour. Brytta trusted in her fellow rogue to somehow turn the balance into the Grey's favour… Probably by discreetly supporting Fergus because the Cousland noble had worked with them the entire time. But it wasn't her problem.

Duncan's dark eyes met hers enquiringly and she smiled. "I'd say go for it, _hjarta af minn hjarta,_" she encouraged. "I mean, Rennio did say that some of the Antivan Wardens were getting… restless… because they had fuck-all to do."

The Warden-Commander sighed and then nodded. "Very well, King Bhelen. The Grey Wardens will administrate the Frostback Mountains within the area claimed by Orzammar… and will remain neutral in any _political_ disputes."

Bhelen nodded. "Sounds good to me." Then he spat into his hand and offered it to Angus, who did the same before shaking the meaty paw.

Sometimes the biggest changes started from the smallest of things. Within a decade of the settlement of the Frostback villages above Orzammar, when combined with Bhelen's other reforms, the dwarven capital rivalled Val Royeaux and Denerim as a hub for trade. By the time Endrin Aeducan the Second, called 'The Golden' by historians, ascended the throne after his father went to the Stone following a long and eventful reign, Orzammar once again ruled much of the Deep Roads and a fair chunk of the Frostbacks – much to the consternation of Orlais and Ferelden.

But the future glory of Orzammar – and the resurgence of the Grey Wardens as a force to be respected and reckoned with on Thedas – began on a cold, blustery day when a king and a refugee shook hands.

…

_Seven Years Later…_

"Unca Dunc'n, can we haf a puppy?"

Duncan set aside his ink and quill as Endrin Aeducan, a precocious amber-haired lad of eight years, and his little sister Kalah toddled into the room which served as the Warden-Commander's study. He'd been working on a missive to Loghain in Weisshaupt, the general having assumed the post of High Constable at the command of the First Warden, concerning migration patterns of the intelligent darkspawn in Antiva and the Free Marches. For some reason Loghain seemed to think he'd have a special insight into the wretched creatures which would allow victory for the Grey Wardens instead of a new kind of war. Loghain, the older Warden thought ruefully, was an optimist.

It had been a good seven years – for the most part. There had been continued troubles in the Assembly until Bhelen shut it down, forcing the King to execute several deshyrs and assume the role of a tyrant. But the Deep Roads had been reclaimed as far as Ortan Thaig, regular patrols and garrisons of both Grey Wardens and the Legion of the Dead allowing Aeducan Thaig and Caridin's Cross to be resettled with hardy casteless dwarves willing to do anything for a better life. The topsider villages were prospering under the benevolent neglect of the Grey Wardens, who trusted that the villagers knew what they were doing, kept the darkspawn and predators at bay, and escorted caravans to and from Orzammar. Seneschal Varel, a silver-haired human who'd once sworn allegiance to the Howes of Amaranthine until his conscription by Daveth, administrated it under Brytta's watchful eye; his little Dust Town diamond took care of the daily grind so that Duncan could focus on the bigger picture.

"Shouldn't you be asking your parents?" he asked sternly as Kalah looked up at him with big malachite-green eyes, a hue which was swiftly becoming known as 'Brosca green', and looked like the very soul of innocence. Anyone who believed _that_ hadn't woken to worms in their bed.

"Mama and Papa are busy," Endrin said. "And… well… Atrast Hjarta said we could each have a puppy from her litter. She said we're old enough."

This meant that the mabari had already picked out a puppy for each of the children and probably imprinted them without even consulting anyone. The little red warhound had become even more opinionated since she'd decided to mate with Barkspawn, Alistair's mabari, during the ex-templar's visit to Orzammar last month. Duncan recalled the chuckle the beast's name had startled from him, indicating the blind Warden had regained some of his irreverent humour. Antiva had been good for him.

"I suppose the furry, squeaking things hidden in your rucksack are the puppies?" Duncan asked with a resigned sigh.

"Yup," Endrin said cheerfully. "Mine's called…" He paused, taking a deep breath before announcing dramatically, "Brytta."

"Mine's Puppy," Kalah announced.

Duncan raised an eyebrow at Endrin. "Are you saying your aunt's a bitch?"

"Nope! My mabari's gonna be the best fighter in alla Orzammar!" Endrin grandly announced. "She's gonna eat all the other doggies… Errr, 'cept her brothers and sisters, of course." When the prince got excited, he lost his formal diction.

Duncan raised his gaze to find a greatly amused Bhelen, Rica and Brytta standing behind the children and struggled to keep his expression stern. "You'll have to train her well," he advised. "And both of you will have to take care of your dogs. It is a bond which goes both ways."

"We will," Endrin promised solemnly.

"I hope so," Bhelen said sternly. Endrin squeaked, a noise which set the puppies in the rucksack yapping, and turned around to face his father. The King of Orzammar had removed his crown but still wore his ceremonial armour. "And I think it's time for you to start learning how to use weapons, Endrin."

"Yay! I'm gonna be growed up soon!" Endrin carefully set the rucksack down; the puppies, reddish-brown with limpid brown eyes, crawled out yapping bravely at the strangers… until their mother barked a command, shutting them up with small whimpers. Then Atrast Hjarta promptly lay down so the puppies could feed from her, which they did. The dog, like her mistress, was completely shameless.

Duncan's eyes met Brytta's as Kalah toddled over to Rica, who picked her up and cuddled her. "They'd already imprinted," the part-Rivaini explained helplessly.

"It's easier to apologise than ask permission," Brytta replied with a grin.

"You got that from Zevran," Rica pointed out.

"Hey, even the elf can be right at times," his wife replied tartly.

"Well, I think it's time we put the children to bed and have some time alone," Bhelen told his Queen.

"I swear, if I have to buy _another_ Naming present in nine months…" Brytta observed with a sigh. Duncan concealed a smile; his little diamond secretly adored the children, but acted all put out whenever Rica and Bhelen had one… Endrin and Kalah had younger twin siblings, Anwer and Caridin, who were still in the nursery.

"Let's go make a daughter and name her Brytta," Rica said teasingly to Bhelen.

"Mama! My doggie's Brytta," Endrin protested. "You have another Brytta, everyone's gonna get confused!"

Bhelen laughed as he chivvied the children and their puppies out with Rica in tow, leaving Duncan and Brytta alone… at long last.

_"MaHábba,"_ Duncan breathed as his hand went out to caress the dwarven woman's scarred, branded cheek. "I have missed you."

Eight, almost nine years since he'd met her in the Proving Commons… Duncan's hair was more like burnished steel instead of iron-grey these days, the lines on his face more prominent and his joints aching with arthritis every time he got caught in the cold. He could fight if he had to and even led patrols between Orzammar and Aeducan Thaig… But he had to admit that he was a bit past his prime these days and was eternally grateful Brytta never had any thought of wandering off despite being nearly thirty years younger than him.

Brytta had transformed from that wary carta thug with her yearning eyes into a sleek, compact bundle of muscle and curves with the experienced gaze of a Senior Warden. Recruits hated her energy as she put them through hell; unlike the desperate days of the Blight, his wife preferred to skim the cream off the hordes of recruits who came to the Orzammar garrison by putting them through an extensive programme of exercises and training… And that was before she made the final decision on who would be conscripted and who wouldn't.

Sometimes the choices weren't based on the physical but the mental… But the survival rate of the Joining had doubled under his wife's watchful eye, so Duncan kept his mouth shut and let her choose as she willed.

"I've missed you too, _hjarta af minn hjarta,_" she replied; her Grey Warden leathers were still splattered with mud from the topside patrol she'd taken. Duty kept them apart rather more than Duncan would like.

He slowly rose from his chair, joints cracking as he stretched; within the warmth of Orzammar, he was still quite spry. "Bath?" he asked with a crinkling of his eyes in amusement.

"Of course," Brytta replied as she let him pick her up. Duncan buried his nose in her messy auburn hair and inhaled, catching the scent of rosemary and laurels beneath the dust and dirt of her recent travel. It had become the scent of all things he called _home._

Despite having rooms in the old Harrowmount estate, Duncan and Brytta spent several days a month in the suite of rooms given to them by Bhelen; given they were the slayers of the archdemon, the other Grey Wardens said nothing about the lack of neutrality. When she'd refused honours and titles and Paragonhood, Bhelen had finally demanded of Brytta was there anything she wanted. He'd nearly fallen over when she said, "A decent bathtub."

Upon beholding the waterfall cascading into a small pool for intimate soaking before draining over into the larger pool used for social bathing, Zevran had declared himself quite undone and completely envious of their bathing chamber. Duncan had to physically throw the elf out when he offered to… 'baptise'… the bathing chamber in 'the traditional Antivan group manner'. How the Antivan Wardens put up with him, Duncan didn't know.

He put his wife down and watched with a smile as she removed her leathers to reveal clothing in much need of repair; even in Orzammar, where new clothing was hers for the asking, his Dust Town diamond wore things until they were rags. When the coarse patched linen shirt and breeches were removed, he frowned when he saw the fresh pink claw scar crossing her back from right shoulder to left hip.

"What happened?" he demanded.

"Oh… on my back? Drake did it," she replied calmly. "It made a nice set of boots."

Duncan stepped over to Brytta, turning her to face him. "_MaHábba_, you are far too precious to me to be picking fights with drakes. Didn't you have a full squad of recruits to do it for you?"

Those beautiful rose-pink lips curved in a wicked smile as his large dark hands slid down her arms. "They dared me. Can't have the babies thinking I'm soft now."

Duncan growled with frustration. "You are Warden-Second of Orzammar, not some unblooded warrior fresh off the teat!"

"Hey, don't complain! That drake's scales went towards _your_ new boots," Brytta retorted.

"I would rather do without new boots than have you pick up a scar for them," Duncan chided as he pulled off his own shirt, breeches and braies.

"Bloody ungrateful you are," Brytta complained as she removed her underthings and then jumped into the large pool, disappearing beneath the hot water for a moment before surfacing with her long auburn hair plastered across her face and broad shoulders. It was a sight which never failed to arouse Duncan.

He joined her and picked her up again, kissing and stroking her until she moaned and writhed, then sitting down with a groan as he settled her on his lap and sheathed himself. It felt so good, being with her like this… If the Maker and the djinn decided to call him home at this moment, he'd die a happy man.

"Do you remember when we first met?" he whispered into her hair as they moved together.

"How can I forget?" Brytta gasped, gripping his shoulders tightly.

"I said that I hoped to find what I was looking for in a Warden-Recruit," he reminded her, lips curving in a smile. "Do you remember what your answer was?"

His little diamond had to think for a moment. "It was like… finding a diamond in Dust Town?"

"Indeed, _maHábba_," Duncan agreed tenderly. He kissed the top of her head as their breathing quickened. The pace picked up and soon they were spent and satiated, panting as steam curled around their entwined bodies.

He looked into those beautiful eyes, partially obscured by the white lock that came from slaying the archdemon, and added, "I did. I found what I was looking for that day: my diamond from Dust Town."

Her smile, sweet and slow, eclipsed anything he'd ever seen and considered beautiful before. Duncan sighed and closed his eyes, embracing her tightly.

Yes, he'd found what he was looking for… and more than that. He'd found love and hope and home… and somehow, on that long-ago day in the Orzammar Proving Commons, he'd known it when he first looked into a set of malachite-green eyes.


End file.
